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John  H.   Mee 


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THE    COMEDY  OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By  H.  DE  BALZAC 


SCENES    FROM    PRIVATE    LIFE 


A   DAUGHTER  OF  EVE 

A   COMMISSION   IN   LUNACY 

THE   RURAL  BALL 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 


Already  Published: 
PÈRE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CÉSAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGÉNIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TWO     BROTHERS. 

THE  ALKAHEST  (La  Recherche  de  l'Absolu). 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 

THE   MAGIC    SKIN  (La  Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employés). 
SERAPHITA. 

SONS    OF    THE    SOIL   (Les  Paysans). 
FAME    AND    SORROW    (Chat-qui-pelote). 
THE   LILY   OF    THE   VALLEY. 
URSULA. 

AN   HISTORICAL   MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A   MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 
A  GREAT  MAN  OF   THE    PROVINCES  IN 

PARIS. 
THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF   CONSOLATION. 
THE    VILLAGE    RECTOR. 
MEMOIRS    OF    TWO     YOUNG    MARRIED 

WOMEN. 
CATHERINE    DE'    MEDICI. 
LUCIEN   DE   RUBEMPRÉ. 
FERRAGUS,  CHIEF  OF  THE  DEVORANTS. 
A   START    IN    LIFE. 
THE    MARRIAGE    CONTRACT. 
BEATRIX. 
DAUGHTER   OF   EVE. 

♦    - 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


HONORÉ    DE    BALZAC 


TRANSLATED    BY    I 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


A  Daughter  of  Eve 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

3     SOMERSET     STREET 

BOSTON 

1895 


GIFT  OP 


Qrt*  ft  7?i*<- 

Copyright,  1895, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


©nfbetattg  £rrss: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


PÇZi  te? 

F6  13 

MAJAJ 


CONTENTS. 


I.    A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE. 

PAGE 

I.     The  Two  Maries 1 

II.    A  Confidence  between  Sisters    ....  17 

III.  The  History  of  a  Fortunate  Woman     .  26 

IV.  A  Celebrated  Man 39 

V.     Florine 60 

VI.     Romantic  Love 79 

VIL     Suicide 100 

VIII.     A  Lover  Saved  and  Lost 119 

IX.     The  Husband's  Triumph 137 

II.    A  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY. 

I.     Two  Old  Friends 157 

II.     The  Judge  ill-judged 169 

III.  The  Petition 185 

IV.  The  Marquise  d'Espard 200 

V.     What   was    said   between   a   Woman   of 

the  World  and  Judge  Popinot  .    .     .212 

VI.     The  Insane  Man 228 

VII.     The  Examination 243 


796240 


vi  Contents. 

III.    THE  RURAL  BALL. 

PAGE 

I.    A  Rebellious  Young  Girl 263 

IT.     The  Ball 289 

III.    In  which  the  Worst  comes  to  the  Worst     311 


To  Madame  la  Comtesse  Bolognini, 

NÉE  VlMERCATI. 

If  you  remember,  madame,  the  pleasure  your  conversation 
gave  to  a  traveller  by  recalling  Paris  to  his  memory  in  Milan, 
you  will  not  be  surprised  to  find  him  testifying  his  gratitude 
for  many  pleasant  evenings  passed  beside  you  by  laying 
one  of  his  works  at  your  feet,  and  begging  you  to  protect  it 
with  your  name,  as  in  former  days  that  name  protected  the 
tales  of  an  ancient  writer  dear  to  the  Milanese. 

You  have  an  Eugénie,  already  beautiful,  whose  intelligent 
smile  gives  promise  that  she  has  inherited  from  you  the  most 
precious  gifts  of  womanhood,  and  who  will  certainly  enjoy 
during  her  childhood  and  youth  all  those  happinesses  which 
a  rigid  mother  denied  to  the  Eugénie  of  these  pages.  Though 
Frenchmen  are  taxed  with  inconstancy,  you  will  find  me 
Italian  in  faithfulness  and  memory.  While  writing  the 
name  of  "  Eugénie,"  my  thoughts  have  often  led  me  back  to 
that  cool  stuccoed  salon  and  little  garden  in  the  Vicolo  dei 
Cappucini,  which  echoed  to  the  laughter  of  that  dear  child, 
to  our  sportive  quarrels  and  our  chatter.  But  you  have  left 
the  Corso  for  the  Tre  Monasteri,  and  I  know  not  how  you 
are  placed  there  ;  consequently,  I  am  forced  to  think  of 
you,  not  among  the  charming  things  with  which  no  doubt 
you  have  surrounded  yourself,  but  like  one  of  those  fine 
figures  due  to  Raff aelle,  Titian,  Correggio,  Allori,  which  seem 
abstractions,  so  distant  are  they  from  our  daily  lives. 

If  this  book  should  wing  its  way  across  the  Alps,  it  will 
prove  to  you  the  lively  gratitude  and  respectful  friendship  of 
Your  devoted  servant, 

De  Balzac. 


*o*     » 


A    DAUGHTER'  OF  rEY .$. K:  | 


i. 

THE    TWO    MARIES. 

In  one  of  the  finest  houses  of  the  rue  Neuve-des- 
Mathurins,  at  half-past  eleven  at  night,  two  young 
women  were  sitting  before  the  fireplace  of  a  boudoir 
hung  with  blue  velvet  of  that  tender  shade,  with  shim- 
mering reflections,  which  French  industry  has  lately 
learned  to  fabricate.  Over  the  doors  and  windows 
were  draped  soft  folds  of  blue  cashmere,  the  tint  of 
the  hangings,  the  work  of  one  of  those  upholsterers 
who  have  just  missed  being  artists.  A  silver  lamp 
studded  with  turquoise,  and  suspended  by  chains  of 
beautiful  workmanship,  hung  from  the  centre  of  the 
ceiling.  The  same  system  of  decoration  was  followed 
in  the  smallest  details,  and  even  to  the  ceiling  of 
fluted  blue  silk,  with  long  bands  of  white  cashmere 
falling  at  equal  distances  on  the  hangings,  where 
they  were  caught  back  by  ropes  of  pearl.  A  warm 
Belgian  carpet,  thick  as  turf,  of  a  gray  ground  with 
blue  posies,  covered  the  floor.  The  furniture,  of 
carved  ebony,  after  a  fine  model  of  the  old  school, 
gave  substance  and  richness  to  the  rather  too  decora- 
tive quality,  as  a  painter  might  call  it,  of  the  rest  of 
the   room.     On   either   side  of   a  large  window,  two 


2  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

étagères  displayed  a. hundred  precious  trifles,  flowers 
of  mechanic^1/  arV* brought  into  bloom  by  the  fire  of 
thought;  .Qji, a  chinineyrpiece  of  slate-blue  marble 
were  n^ûrès**in:Q]4^esden,  shepherds  in  bridal  garb, 
with  delicate  bouquets  in  their  hands,  German  fantas- 
ticalities surrounding  a  platinum  clock,  inlaid  with 
arabesques.  Above  it  sparkled  the  brilliant  facets  of 
a  Venice  mirror  framed  in  ebony,  with  figures  carved 
in  relief,  evidently  obtained  from  some  former  royal 
residence.  Two  jardinières  were  filled  with  the  exotic 
product  of  a  hot-house,  pale,  but  divine  flowers,  the 
treasures  of  botany. 

In  this  cold,  orderly  boudoir,  where  all  things  were 
in  place  as  if  for  sale,  no  sign  existed  of  the  gay  and 
capricious  disorder  of  a  happy  home.  At  the  present 
moment,  the  two  young  women  were  weeping.  Pain 
seemed  to  predominate.  The  name  of  the  owner, 
Ferdinand  du  Tillet,  one  of  the  richest  bankers  in 
Paris,  is  enough  to  explain  the  luxury  of  the  whole 
house,  of  which  this  boudoir  is  but  a  sample. 

Though  without  either  rank  or  station,  having 
pushed  himself  forward,  heaven  knows  how,  du  Tillet 
had  married,  in  1831,  the  daughter  of  the  Comte  de 
Granville,  one  of  the  greatest  names  in  the  French 
magistracy,  —  a  man  who  became  peer  of  France  after 
the  revolution  of  July.  This  marriage  of  ambition  on 
du  Tillet' s  part  was  brought  about  by  his  agreeing  to 
sign  an  acknowledgment  in  the  marriage  contract  of 
a  dowry  not  received,  equal  to  that  of  her  elder  sister, 
who  was  married  to  Comte  Félix  de  Vandenesse.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Granvilles  obtained  the  alliance 
with  de  Vandenesse  by  the  largeness  of  the  dot.     Thus 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  3 

the  bank  repaired  the  breach  made  in  the  pocket  of 
the  magistracy  by  rank.  Could  the  Comte  de  Vande- 
nesse  have  seen  himself,  three  years  later,  the  brother- 
in-law  of  a  Sieur  Ferdinand  du  Tillet,  so-called,  he 
might  not  have  married  his  wife;  but  what  man  of 
rank  in  1828  foresaw  the  strange  upheavals  which  the 
year  1-830  was  destined  to  produce  in  the  political  con- 
dition, the  fortunes,  and  the  customs  of  France?  Had 
any  one  predicted  to  Comte  Félix  de  Vandenesse  that 
his  head  would  lose  the  coronet  of  a  peer,  and  that  of 
his  father-in-law  acquire  one,  he  would  have  thought  his 
informant  a  lunatic. 

Bending  forward  on  one  of  those  low  chairs  then 
called  chauffeuses,  in  the  attitude  of  a  listener, 
Madame  du  Tillet  was  pressing  to  her  bosom  with 
maternal  tenderness,  and  occasionally  kissing,  the 
hand  of  her  sister,  Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse. 
Society  added  the  baptismal  name  to  the  surname,  in 
order  to  distinguish  the  countess  from  her  sister-in- 
law,  the  Marquise  Charles  de  Vandenesse,  wife  of  the 
former  ambassador,  who  had  married  the  widow  of 
the  Comte  de  Kergarouët,  Mademoiselle  Emilie  de 
Fontaine. 

Half  lying  on  a  sofa,  her  handkerchief  in  the  other 
hand,  her  breathing  choked  by  repressed  sobs,  and 
with  tearful  eyes,  the  countess  had  been  making  confi- 
dences such  as  are  made  only  from  sister  to  sister 
when  two  sisters  love  each  other  ;  and  these  two  sisters 
did  love  each  other  tenderly.  We  live  in  days  when 
sisters  married  into  such  antagonist  spheres  can  very 
well  not  love  each  other,  and  therefore  the  historian  is 
bound  to  relate  the  reasons  of  this  tender  affection, 


4  A  Daughter  of  Eve, 

preserved  without  spot  or  jar  in  spite  of  their  hus- 
bands' contempt  for  each  other  and  their  own  social 
disunion.  A  rapid  glance  at  their  childhood  will 
explain  the  situation. 

Brought  up  in  a  gloomy  house  in  the  Marais,  by  a 
woman  of  narrow  mind,  a  dévote  who,  being  sustained 
by  a  sense  of  duty  (sacred  phrase!),  had  fulfilled  her 
tasks  as  a  mother  religiously,  Marie-Angélique  and 
Marie  Eugénie  de  Granville  reached  the  period  of  their 
marriage  —  the  first  at  eighteen,  the  second  at  twenty 
years  of  age  —  without  ever  leaving  the  domestic  zone 
where  the  rigid  maternal  eye  controlled  them.  Up  to 
that  time  they  had  never  been  to  a  play  ;  the  churches 
of  Paris  were  their  theatre.  Their  education  in  their 
mother's  house  had  been  as  rigorous  as  it  would  have 
been  in  a  convent.  From  infancy  they  had  slept  in 
a  room  adjoining  that  of  the  Comtesse  de  Granville, 
the  door  of  which  stood  always  open.  The  time 
not  occupied  by  the  care  of  their  persons,  their  relig- 
ious duties  and  the  studies  considered  necessary  for 
well-bred  young  ladies,  was  spent  in  needlework  done 
for  the  poor,  or  in  walks  like  those  an  Englishwoman 
allows  herself  on  Sunday,  saying,  apparently,  "Not 
so  fast,  or  we  shall  seem  to  be  amusing  ourselves." 

Their  education  did  not  go  beyond  the  limits  im- 
posed by  confessors,  who  were  chosen  by  their  mother 
from  the  strictest  and  least  tolerant  of  the  Jansenist 
priests.  Never  were  girls  delivered  over  to  their  hus- 
bands more  absolutely  pure  and  virgin  than  they; 
their  mother  seemed  to  consider  that  point,  essential 
as  indeed  it  is,  the  accomplishment  of  all  her  duties 
toward  earth  and  heaven.     These  two  poor  creatures 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  5 

had  never,  before  their  marriage,  read  a  tale,  or  heard 
of  a  romance;  their  very  drawings  were  of  figures 
whose  anatomy  would  have  been  masterpieces  of  the 
impossible  to  Cuvier,  designed  to  feminize  the  Farnese 
Hercules  himself.  An  old  maid  taught  them  drawing. 
A  worthy  priest  instructed  them  in  grammar,  the 
French  language,  history,  geography,  and  the  very 
little  arithmetic  it  was  thought  necessary  in  their  rank 
for  women  to  know.  Their  reading,  selected  from 
authorized  books,  such  as  the  "Lettres  Édifiantes," 
and  Noel's  "Leçons  de  Littérature,"  was  done  aloud  in 
the  evening;  but  always  in  presence  of  their  mother's 
confessor,  for  even  in  those  books  there  did  sometimes 
occur  passages  which,  without  wise  comments,  might 
have  roused  their  imagination.  Fénelon's  "Télé- 
maque"  was  thought  dangerous. 

The  Comtesse  de  Granville  loved  her  daughters 
sufficiently  to  wish  to  make  them  angels  after  the 
pattern  of  Marie  Alacoque,  but  the  poor  girls  them- 
selves would  have  preferred  a  less  virtuous  and  more 
amiable  mother.  This  education  bore  its  natural 
fruits.  Religion,  imposed  as  a  yoke  and  presented 
under  its  sternest  aspect,  wearied  with  formal  prac- 
tice these  innocent  young  hearts,  treated  as  sinful. 
It  repressed  their  feelings,  and  was  never  precious  to 
them,  although  it  struck  its  roots  deep  down  into  their 
natures.  Under  such  training  the  two  Maries  would 
either  have  become  mere  imbeciles,  or  they  must 
necessarily  have  longed  for  independence.  Thus  it 
came  to  pass  that  they  looked  to  marriage  as  soon  as  they 
saw  anything  of  life  and  were  able  to  compare  a  few 
ideas.     Of  their  own  tender  graces  and  their  personal 


6  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

value  they  were  absolutely  ignorant.  They  were  igno- 
rant, too,  of  their  own  innocence;  how,  then,  could 
they  know  life?  Without  weapons  to  meet  misfor- 
tune, without  experience  to  appreciate  happiness,  they 
found  no  comfort  in  the  maternal  jail,  all  their  joys  were 
in  each  other.  Their  tender  confidences  at  night  in 
whispers,  or  a  few  short  sentences  exchanged  if  their 
mother  left  them  for  a  moment,  contained  more  ideas 
than  the  words  themselves  expressed.  Often  a  glance, 
concealed  from  other  eyes,  by  which  they  conveyed  to 
each  other  their  emotions,  was  like  a  poem  of  bitter 
melancholy.  The  sight  of  a  cloudless  sky,  the  fra- 
grance of  flowers,  a  turn  in  the  garden,  arm  in  arm, 
—  these  were  their  joys.  The  finishing  of  a  piece  of 
embroidery  was  to  them  a  source  of  enjoyment. 

Their  mother's  social  circle,  far  from  opening  re- 
sources to  their  hearts  or  stimulating  their  minds,  only 
darkened  their  ideas  and  depressed  them  ;  it  was  made 
up  of  rigid  old  women,  withered  and  graceless,  whose 
conversation  turned  on  the  differences  which  distin- 
guished various  preachers  and  confessors,  on  their 
own  petty  indispositions,  on  religious  events  insig- 
nificant even  to  the  "Quotidienne"  or  "l'Ami  de  la 
Religion."  As  for  the  men  who  appeared  in  the  Com- 
tesse de  Granville's  salon,  they  extinguished  any 
possible  torch  of  love,  so  cold  and  sadly  resigned  were 
their  faces.  They  were  all  of  the  age  when  mankind 
is  sulky  and  fretful,  and  natural  sensibilities  are  chiefly 
exercised  at  table  and  on  the  things  relating  to  per- 
sonal comfort.  Religious  egotism  had  long  dried  up 
those  hearts  devoted  to  narrow  duties  and  intrenched 
behind  pious  practices.     Silent  games  of  cards  occu- 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  7 

pied  the  whole  evening,  and  the  two  young  girls  under 
the  ban  of  that  Sanhedrim  enforced  by  maternal  sever- 
ity, came  to  hate  the  dispiriting  personages  about 
them  with  their  hollow  eyes  and  scowling  faces. 

On  the  gloom  of  this  life  one  sole  figure  of  a  man, 
that  of  a  music-master,  stood  vigorously  forth.  The 
confessors  had  decided  that  music  was  a  Christian  art, 
born  of  the  Catholic  Church  and  developed  within  her. 
The  two  Maries  were  therefore  permitted  to  study 
music.  A  spinster  in  spectacles,  who  taught  singing 
and  the  piano  in  a  neighboring  convent,  wearied  them 
with  exercises  ;  but  when  the  eldest  girl  was  ten  years 
old,  the  Comte  de  Granville  insisted  on  the  importance 
of  giving  her  a  master.  Madame  de  Granville  gave 
all  the  value  of  conjugal  obedience  to  this  needed 
concession,  —  it  is  part  of  a  dévote' s  character  to  make 
a  merit  of  doing  her  duty. 

The  master  was  a  Catholic  German;  one  of  those 
men  born  old,  who  seem  all  their  lives  fifty  years  of 
age  even  at  eighty.  And  yet,  his  brown,  sunken, 
wrinkled  face  still  kept  something  infantile  and  artless 
in  its  dark  creases.  The  blue  of  innocence  was  in 
his  eyes,  and  a  gay  smile  of  springtide  abode  upon 
his  lips.  His  iron-gray  hair,  falling  naturally  like 
that  of  the  Christ  in  art,  added  to  his  ecstatic  air  a 
certain  solemnity  which  was  absolutely  deceptive  as  to 
his  real  nature;  for  he  was  capable  of  committing 
any  silliness  with  the  most  exemplary  gravity.  His 
clothes  were  a  necessary  envelope,  to  which  he  paid  not 
the  slightest  attention,  for  his  eyes  looked  too  high 
among  the  clouds  to  concern  themselves  with  such 
materialities.     This  great  unknown  artist  belonged  to 


8  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

the  kindly  class  of  the  self-forgetting,  who  give  their 
time  and  their  soul  to  others,  just  as  they  leave  their 
gloves  on  every  table  and  their  umbrella  at  all  doors. 
His  hands  were  of  the  kind  that  are  dirty  as  soon 
as  washed.  In  short,  his  old  body,  badly  poised  on 
its  knotty  old  legs,  proving  to  what  degree  a  man  can 
make  it  the  mere  accessory  of  his  soul,  belonged  to 
those  strange  creations  which  have  been  properly  de- 
picted only  by  a  German,  —  by  Hoffmann,  the  poet  of 
that  which  seems  not  to  exist  but  yet  has  life. 

Such  was  Schmucke,  formerly  chapel-master  to  the 
Margrave  of  Anspach  ;  a  musical  genius,  who  was  now 
examined  by  a  council  of  dévotes,  and  asked  if  he 
kept  the  fasts.  The  master  was  much  inclined  to 
answer,  "Look  at  me!  "  but  how  could  he  venture  to 
joke  with  pious  dowagers  and  Jansenist  confessors? 
This  apocryphal  old  fellow  held  such  a  place  in  the 
lives  of  the  two  Maries,  they  felt  such  friendship  for 
the  grand  and  simple-minded  artist,  who  was  happy 
and  contented  in  the  mere  comprehension  of  his  art, 
that  after  their  marriage,  they  each  gave  him  an  an- 
nuity of  three  hundred  francs  a  year,  —  a  sum  which 
sufficed  to  pay  for  his  lodging,  beer,  pipes,  and  clothes. 
Six  hundred  francs  a  year  and  his  lessons  put  him  in 
Eden.  Schmucke  had  never  found  courage  to  confide 
his  poverty  and  his  aspirations  to  any  but  these  two 
adorable  young  girls,  whose  hearts  were  blooming  be- 
neath the  snow  of  maternal  rigor  and  the  ice  of  devo- 
tion. This  fact  explains  Schmucke  and  the  girlhood 
of  the  two  Maries. 

No  one  knew  then,  or  later,   what  abbé  or  pious 
spinster  had  discovered  the  old  German  then  vaguely 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  9 

wandering  about  Paris,  but  as  soon  as  mothers  of 
families  learned  that  the  Comtesse  de  Granville  had 
found  a  music-master  for  her  daughters,  they  all  in- 
quired for  his  name  and  address.  Before  long, 
Schmucke  had  thirty  pupils  in  the  Marais.  This 
tardy  success  was  manifested  by  steel  buckles  to  his 
shoes,  which  were  lined  with  horse-hair  soles,  and  by 
a  more  frequent  change  of  linen.  His  artless  gayety, 
long  suppressed  by  noble  and  decent  poverty,  reap- 
peared. He  gave  vent  to  witty  little  remarks  and 
flowery  speeches  in  his  German-Gallic  patois,"  very 
observing  and  very  quaint  and  said  with  an  air  which 
disarmed  ridicule.  But  he  was  so  pleased  to  bring  a 
laugh  to  the  lips  of  his  two  pupils,  whose  dismal  life 
his  sympathy  had  penetrated,  that  he  would  gladly 
have  made  himself  wilfully  ridiculous  had  he  failed  in 
being  so  by  nature. 

According  to  one  of  the  nobler  ideas  of  religious 
education,  the  young  girls  always  accompanied  their 
master  respectfully  to  the  door.  There  they  would 
make  him  a  few  kind  speeches,  glad  to  do  anything  to 
give  him  pleasure.  Poor  things  !  all  they  could  do  was 
to  show  him  their  womanhood.  Until  their  marriage, 
music  was  to  them  another  life  within  their  lives, 
just  as,  they  say,  a  Russian  peasant  takes  his  dreams 
for  reality  and  his  actual  life  for  a  troubled  sleep. 
With  the  instinct  of  protecting  their  souls  against  the 
pettiness  that  threatened  to  overwhelm  them,  against 
the  all-pervading  asceticism  of  their  home,  they  flung 
themselves  into  the  difficulties  of  the  musical  art,  and 
spent  themselves  upon  it.  Melody,  harmony,  and 
composition,  three  daughters  of  heaven,  whose  choir 


10  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

was  led  by  an  old  German-Catholic  faun  drunk  with 
music,  were  to  these  poor  girls  the  compensation  of 
their  trials;  they  made  them,  as  it  were,  a  rampart 
against  their  daily  lives.  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Gluck, 
Paësiello,  Cimarosa,  Haydn,  and  certain  secondary 
geniuses,  developed  in  their  souls  a  passionate  emotion 
which  never  passed  beyond  the  chaste  inclosure  of 
their  breasts,  though  it  permeated  that  other  creation 
through  which,  in  spirit,  they  winged  their  flight. 
When  they  had  executed  some  great  work  in  a  manner 
that  their  master  declared  was  almost  faultless,  they 
embraced  each  other  in  ecstasy  and  the  old  man  called 
them  his  Saint  Cecilias. 

The  two  Maries  were  not  taken  to  a  ball  until  they 
were  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  then  only  four  times  a 
year  in  special  houses.  They  were  not  allowed  to 
leave  their  mother's  side  without  instructions  as  to 
their  behavior  with  their  partners  ;  and  so  severe  were 
these  instructions  that  they  dared  say  only  yes  or  no 
during  a  dance.  The  eye  of  the  countess  never  left 
them,  and  she  seemed  to  know  from  the  mere  move- 
ment of  their  lips  the  words  they  uttered.  Even  the 
ball-dresses  of  these  poor  little  things  were  piously 
irreproachable;  their  muslin  gowns  came  up  to  their 
chins  with  an  endless  number  of  thick  ruches,  and 
the  sleeves  came  down  to  their  wrists.  Swathing  in 
this  way  their  natural  charms,  this  costume  gave  them 
a  vague  resemblance  to  Egyptian  hermse  ;  though  from 
these  blocks  of  muslin  rose  enchanting  little  heads  of 
tender  melancholy.  They  felt  themselves  the  objects 
of  pity,  and  inwardly  resented  it.  What  woman,  how- 
ever innocent,  does  not  desire  to  excite  envy  ? 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  11 

No  dangerous  idea,  unhealthy  or  even  equivocal, 
soiled  the  pure  pulp  of  their  brain  ;  their  hearts  were 
innocent,  their  hands  were  horribly  red,  and  they 
glowed  with  health.  Eve  did  not  issue  more  innocent 
from  the  hands  of  God  than  these  two  girls  from  their 
mother's  home  when  they  went  to  the  mayor's  office 
and  the  church  to  be  married,  after  receiving  the 
simple  but  terrible  injunction  to  obey  in  all  things 
two  men  with  whom  they  were  henceforth  to  live  and 
sleep  by  day  and  by  night.  To  their  minds,  nothing 
could  be  worse  in  the  strange  houses  where  they  were 
to  go  than  the  maternal  convent. 

Why  did  the  father  of  these  poor  girls,  the  Comte 
de  Granville,  a  wise  and  upright  magistrate  (though 
sometimes  led  away  by  politics) ,  refrain  from  protect- 
ing the  helpless  little  creatures  from  such  crushing 
despotism?  Alas!  by  mutual  understanding,  about 
ten  years  after  marriage,  he  and  his  wife  were  sepa- 
rated while  living  under  one  roof.  The  father  had 
taken  upon  himself  the  education  of  his  sons,  leaving 
that  of  the  daughters  to  the  wife.  He  saw  less  danger 
for  women  than  for  men  in  the  application  of  his 
wife's  oppressive  system.  The  two  Maries,  destined 
as  women  to  endure  tyranny,  either  of  love  or  mar- 
riage, would  be,  he  thought,  less  injured  than  boys, 
whose  minds  ought  to  have  freer  play,  and  whose  manly 
qualities  would  deteriorate  under  the  powerful  com- 
pression of  religious  ideas  pushed  to  their  utmost 
consequences.     Of  four  victims  the  count  saved  two. 

The  countess  regarded  her  sons  as  too  ill-trained  to 
admit  of  the  slightest  intimacy  with  their  sisters. 
All   communication   between   the   poor  children   was 


12  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

therefore  strictly  watched.  When  the  boys  came  home 
from  school,  the  count  was  careful  not  to  keep  them 
in  the  house.  The  boys  always  breakfasted  with  their 
mother  and  sisters,  but  after  that  the  count  took  them 
off  to  museums,  theatres,  restaurants,  or,  during  the 
summer  season,  into  the  country.  Except  on  the  sol- 
emn days  of  some  family  festival,  such  as  the  coun- 
tess's birthday  or  New  Year's  day,  or  the  day  of  the 
distribution  of  prizes,  when  the  boys  remained  in  their 
father's  house  and  slept  there,  the  sisters  saw  so  little 
of  their  brothers  that  there  was  absolutely  no  tie  be- 
tween them.  On  those  days  the  countess  never  left 
them  for  an  instant  alone  together.  Calls  of  "  Where 
is  Angélique?"  —  "What  is  Eugenie  about?"  — 
"Where  are  my  daughters?  "  resounded  all  day.  As 
for  the  mother's  sentiments  toward  her  sons,  the 
countess  raised  to  heaven  her  cold  and  macerated  eyes, 
as  if  to  ask  pardon  of  God  for  not  having  snatched 
them  from  iniquity. 

Her  exclamations,  and  also  her  reticences  on  the 
subject  of  her  sons,  were  equal  to  the  most  lamenting 
verses  in  Jeremiah,  and  completely  deceived  the  sis- 
ters, who  supposed  their  sinful  brothers  to  be  doomed 
to  perdition. 

When  the  boys  were  eighteen  years  of  age,  the  count 
gave  them  rooms  in  his  own  part  of  the  house,  and 
sent  them  to  study  law  under  the  supervision  of  a 
solicitor,  his  former  secretary.  The  two  Maries  knew 
nothing  therefore  of  fraternity,  except  by  theory.  At 
the  time  of  the  marriage  of  the  sisters,  both  brothers 
were  practising  in  provincial  courts,  and  both  were 
detained  by  important  cases.     Domestic  life  in  many 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  13 

families  which  might  be  expected  to  be  intimate, 
united,  and  homogeneous,  is  really  spent  in  this  way. 
Brothers  are  sent  to  a  distance,  busy  with  their  own 
careers,  their  own  advancement,  occupied,  perhaps, 
about  the  good  of  the  country  ;  the  sisters  are  engrossed 
in  a  round  of  other  interests.  All  the  members  of 
such  a  family  live  disunited,  forgetting  one  another, 
bound  together  only  by  some  feeble  tie  of  memory, 
until,  perhaps,  a  sentiment  of  pride  or  self-interest 
either  joins  them  or  separates  them  in  heart  as  they 
already  are  in  fact.  Modern  laws,  by  multiplying  the 
family  by  the  family,  has  created  a  great  evil,  — 
namely,  individualism. 

In  the  depths  of  this  solitude  where  their  girlhood 
was  spent,  Angélique  and  Eugénie  seldom  saw  their 
father,  and  when  he  did  enter  the  grand  apartment 
of  his  wife  on  the  first  floor,  he  brought  with  him  a 
saddened  face.  In  his  own  home  he  always  wore  the 
grave  and  solemn  look  of  a  magistrate  on  the  bench. 
When  the  little  girls  had  passed  the  age  of  dolls  and 
toys,  when  they,  began,  about  twelve,  to  use  their 
minds  (an  epoch  at  which  they  ceased  to  laugh  at 
Schmucke)  they  divined  the  secret  of  the  cares  that 
lined  their  father's  forehead,  and  they  recognized  be- 
neath that  mask  of  sternness  the  relics  of  a  kind  heart 
and  a  fine  character.  They  vaguely  perceived  how  he 
had  yielded  to  the  forces  of  religion  in  his  household, 
disappointed  as  he  was  in  his  hopes  as  a  husband,  and 
wounded  in  the  tenderest  fibres  of  paternity,  —  the 
love  of  a  father  for  his  daughters.  Such  griefs  were 
singularly  moving  to  the  hearts  of  the  two  young  girls, 
who  were  themselves  deprived  of  all  tenderness.    Some- 


14  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

times,  when  pacing  the  garden  between  his  daughters, 
with  an  arm  round  each  little  waist,  and  stepping  with 
their  own  short  steps,  the  father  would  stop  short 
behind  a  clump  of  trees,  out  of  sight  of  the  house, 
and  kiss  them  on  their  foreheads;  his  eyes,  his  lips, 
his  whole  countenance  expressing  the  deepest  com- 
miseration. 

"You  are  not  very  happy,  my  dear  little  girls,"  he 
said  one  day;  "but  I  shall  marry  you  early.  It  will 
comfort  me  to  have  you  leave  home." 

"Papa,"  said  Eugénie,  "we  have  decided  to  take 
the  first  man  who  offers." 

"Ah!  "  he  cried,  "that  is  the  bitter  fruit  of  such  a 
system.  They  want  to  make  saints,  and  they  make  —  " 
he  stopped  without  ending  his  sentence. 

Often  the  two  girls  felt  an  infinite  tenderness  in 
their  father's  "Adieu,"  or  in  his  eyes,  when,  by  chance, 
he  dined  at  home.  They  pitied  that  father  so  seldom 
seen,  and  love  follows  often  upon  pity. 

This  stern  and  rigid  education  was  the  cause  of  the 
marriages  of  the  two  sisters  welded  together  by  mis- 
fortune, as  Rita-Christina  by  the  hand  of  Nature. 
Many  men,  driven  to  marriage,  prefer  a  girl  taken 
from  a  convent,  and  saturated  with  piety,  to  a  girl 
brought  up  to  worldly  ideas.  There  seems  to  be  no 
middle  course.  A  man  must  marry  either  an  edu- 
cated girl,  who  reads  the  newspapers  and  comments 
upon  them,  who  waltzes  with  a  dozen  young  men,  goes 
to  the  theatre,  devours  novels,  cares  nothing  for  relig- 
ion, and  makes  her  own  ethics,  or  an  ignorant  and 
innocent  young  girl,  like  either  of  the  two  Maries. 
Perhaps  there  may  be  as  much  danger  with  the  one 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  15 

kind  as  with  the  other.  Yet  the  vast  majority  of  men 
who  are  not  so  old  as  Arnolphe,  prefer  a  religious 
Agnes  to  a  budding  Célimène. 

The  two  Maries,  who  were  small  and  slender,  had 
the  same  figure,  the  same  foot,  the  same  hand. 
Eugénie,  the  younger,  was  fair- haired,  like  her  mother, 
Angélique  was  dark-haired,  like  the  father.  But  they 
both  had  the  same  complexion,  —  a  skin  of  the  pearly 
whiteness  which  shows  the  richness  and  purity  of  the 
blood,  where  the  color  rises  through  a  tissue  like  that 
of  the  jasmine,  soft,  smooth,  and  tender  to  the  touch. 
Eugenie's  blue  eyes  and  the  brown  eyes  of  Angélique 
had  an  expression  of  artless  indifference,  of  ingenuous 
surprise,  which  was  rendered  by  the  vague  manner 
with  which  the  pupils  floated  on  the  fluid  whiteness  of 
the  eyeball.  They  were  both  well-made;  the  rather 
thin  shoulders  would  develop  later.  Their  throats, 
long  veiled,  delighted  the  eye  when  their  husbands 
requested  them  to  wear  low  dresses  to  a  ball,  on  which 
occasion  they  both  felt  a  pleasing  shame,  which  made 
them  first  blush  behind  closed  doors,  and  afterwards, 
through  a  whole  evening  in  company. 

On  the  occasion  when  this  scene  opens,  and  the 
eldest,  Angélique,  was  weeping,  while  the  younger, 
Eugénie,  was  consoling  her,  their  hands  and  arms  were 
white  as  milk.  Each  had  nursed  a  child,  — one  a  boy, 
the  other  a  daughter.  Eugénie,  as  a  girl,  was  thought 
very  giddy  by  her  mother,  who  had  therefore  treated 
her  with  especial  watchfulness  and  severity.  In  the 
eyes  of  that  much-feared  mother,  Angélique,  noble  and 
proud,  appeared  to  have  a  soul  so  lofty  that  it  would 
guard  itself,  whereas,  the  more  lively  Eugénie  needed 


16  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

restraint.  There  are  many  charming  beings  misused 
by  fate, —  beings  who  ought  by  rights  to  prosper  in  this 
life,  but  who  live  and  die  unhappy,  tortured  by  some 
evil  genius,  the  victims  of  unfortunate  circumstances. 
The  innocent  and  naturally  light-hearted  Eugénie  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  and  beneath  the  malicious  des- 
potism of  a  self-made  man  on  leaving  the  maternal 
prison.  Angélique,  whose  nature  inclined  her  to 
deeper  sentiments,  was  thrown  into  the  upper  spheres 
of  Parisian  social  life,  with  the  bridle  lying  loose  upon 
her  neck. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  17 


IL 


A   CONFIDENCE   BETWEEN   SISTERS. 

Madame  de  Vandenesse,  Marie-Angélique,  who 
seemed  to  have  broken  down  under  a  weight  of 
troubles  too  heavy  for  her  soul  to  bear,  was  tying  back 
on  the  sofa  with  bent  limbs,  and  her  head  tossing 
restlessly.  She  had  rushed  to  her  sister's  bouse  after 
a  brief  appearance  at  the  Opera.  Flowers  were  still 
in  her  hair,  but  others  were  scattered  upon  the  carpet, 
together  with  her  gloves,  her  silk  pelisse,  and  muff  and 
hood.  Tears  were  mingling  with  the  pearls  on  her 
bosom;  her  swollen  eyes  appeared  to  make  strange 
confidences.  In  the  midst  of  so  much  luxury  her 
distress  was  horrible,  and  she  seemed  unable  to  sum- 
mon courage  to  speak. 

"Poor  darling!  "  said  Madame  du  Tillet;  "what  a 
mistaken  idea  you  have  of  my  marriage  if  you  think 
that  I  can  help  you  !  " 

Hearing  this  revelation,  dragged  from  her  sister's 
heart  by  the  violence  of  the  storm  she  herself  had 
raised  there,  the  countess  looked  with  stupefied  eyes 
at  the  banker's  wife;  her  tears  stopped,  and  her  eyes 
grew  fixed. 

"Are  you  in  misery  as  well,  my  dearest?"  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"My  griefs  will  not  ease  yours." 
2 


18  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"But  tell  them  to  me,  darling;  I  am  not  yet  too 
selfish  to  listen.  Are  we  to  suffer  together  once  more, 
as  we  did  in  girlhood  ?  " 

"But  alas!  we  suffer  apart,"  said  the  banker's' wife. 
"You  and  I  live  in  two  worlds  at  enmity  with  each 
other.  I  go  to  the  Tuileries  when  you  are  not  there. 
Our  husbands  belong  to  opposite  parties.  I  am  the 
wife  of  an  ambitious  banker,  —  a  bad  man,  my  darling  ; 
while  you  have  a  noble,  kind,  and  generous  husband." 
■  "Oh!  don't  reproach  me  !  "  cried  the  countess.  "To 
understand  my  position,  a  woman  must  have  borne 
the  weariness  of  a  vapid  and  barren  life,  and  have 
entered  suddenly  into  a  paradise  of  light  and  love; 
she  must  know  the  happiness  of  feeling  her  whole  life 
in  that  of  another  ;  of  espousing,  as  it  were,  the  infi- 
nite emotions  of  a  poet's  soul;  of  living  a  double 
existence,  —  going,  coming  with  him  in  his  courses 
through  space,  through  the  world  of  ambition;  suffer- 
ing with  his  griefs,  rising  on  the  wings  of  his  high 
pleasures,  developing  her  faculties  on  some  vast  stage  ; 
and  all  this  while  living  calm,  serene,  and  cold  before 
an  observing  world.  Ah!  dearest,  -what  happiness  in 
having  at  all  hours  an  enormous  interest,  which  multi- 
plies the  fibres  of  the  heart  and  varies  them  indefi- 
nitely! to  feel  no  longer  cold  indifference!  to  find 
one's  very  life  depending  on  a  thousand  trifles  !  —  on  a 
walk  where  an  eye  will  beam  to  us  from  a  crowd,  on  a 
glance  which  pales  the  sun!  Ah!  what  intoxication, 
dear,  to  live!  to  live  when  other  women  are  praying 
on  their  knees  for  emotions  that  never  come  to  them  ! 
Remember,  darling,  that  for  this  poem  of  delight  there- 
is   but  a  single   moment,  —  youth  !     In  a  few  years 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  19 

winter  comes,  and  cold.  Ah!  if  you  possessed  these 
living  riches  of  the  heart,  and  were  threatened  with  the 
loss  of  them  —  " 

Madame  du  Tillet,  terrified,  had  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  during  the  passionate  utterance  of  this 
anthem. 

"I  did  not  even  think  of  reproaching  you,  my  be- 
loved," she  said  at  last,  seeing  her  sister's  face  bathed 
in  hot  tears.  "You  have  cast  into  my  soul,  in  one 
moment,  more  brands  than  I  have  tears  to  quench. 
Yes,  the  life  I  live  would  justify  to  my  heart  a  love 
like  that  you  picture.  Let  me  believe  that  if  we  could 
have  seen  each  other  oftener,  we  should  not  now  be 
where  we  are.  If  you  had  seen  my  sufferings,  you 
must  have  valued  your  own  happiness  the  more,  and 
you  might  have  strengthened  me  to  resist  my  tyrant, 
and  so  have  won  a  sort  of  peace.  Your  misery  is  an 
incident  which  chance  may  change,  but  mine  is  daily 
and  perpetual.  To  my  husband  I  am  a  peg  on  which 
to  hang  his  luxury,  the  sign-post  of  his  ambition,  a 
satisfaction  to  his  vanity.  He  has  no  real  affection 
for  me,  and  no  confidence.  Ferdinand  is  hard  and 
polished  as  that  bit  of  marble,"  she  continued,  strik- 
ing the  chimney-piece.  "He  distrusts  me.  What- 
ever I  may  want  for  myself  is  refused  before  I  ask  it; 
but  as  for  what  flatters  his  vanity  and  proclaims  his 
wealth,  I  have  no  occasion  to  express  a  wish.  He 
decorates  my  apartments;  he  spends  enormous  sums 
upon  my  entertainments  ;  my  servants,  my  opera-box, 
all  external  matters  are  maintained  with  the  utmost 
splendor.  His  vanity  spares  no  expense;  he  would 
trim  his  children's  swaddling-clothes  with  lace  if  he 


20  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

could,  but  he  would  never  hear  their  cries,  or  guess 
their  needs.  Do  you  understand  me?  I  am  covered 
with  diamonds  when  I  go  to  court;  I  wear  the  richest 
jewels  in  society,  but  I  have  not  one  farthing  I  can 
use.  Madame  du  Tillet,  who,  they  say,  is  envied, 
who  appears  to  float  in  gold,  has  not  a  hundred  francs 
she  can  call  her  own.  If  the  father  cares  little  for  his 
child,  he  cares  less  for  its  mother.  Ah  !  he  has  cruelly 
made  me  feel  that  he  bought  me,  and  that  in  marrying 
me  without  a  dot  he  was  wronged.  I  might  perhaps 
have  won  him  to  love  me,  but  there 's  an  outside 
influence  against  it,  —  that  of  a  woman,  who  is  over 
fifty  years  of  age,  the  widow  of  a  notary,  who  rules 
him.  I  shall  never  be  free,  I  know  that,  so  long  as 
he  lives.  My  life  is  regulated  like  that  of  a  queen; 
my  meals  are  served  with  the  utmost  formality;  at  a 
given  hour  I  must  drive  to  the  Bois;  I  am  always 
accompanied  by  two  footmen  in  full  dress;  I  am 
obliged  to  return  at  a  certain  hour.  Instead  of  giving 
orders,  I  receive  them.  At  a  ball,  at  the  theatre,  a 
servant  comes  to  me  and  says:  '  Madame's  carriage  is 
ready/  and  I  am  obliged  to  go,  in  the  midst,  perhaps, 
of  something  I  enjoy.  Ferdinand  would  be  furious 
if  I  did  not  obey  the  etiquette  he  prescribes  for  his 
wife  ;  he  frightens  me.  In  the  midst  of  this  hateful 
opulence,  I  find  myself  regretting  the  past,  and  think- 
ing that  our  mother  was  kind;  she  left  us  the  nights 
when  we  could  talk  together;  at  any  rate,  I  was  living 
with  a  dear  being  who  loved  me  and  suffered  with  me: 
whereas  here,  in  this  sumptuous  house,  I  live  in  a 
desert." 

At  this  terrible  confession  the  countess  caught  her 
sister's  hand  and  kissed  it,  weeping. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  21 

"How,  then,  can  I  help  you?"  said  Eugénie,  in  a 
low  voice.  "He  would  be  suspicious  at  once  if  he 
surprised  us  here,  and  would  insist  on  knowing  all 
that  you  have  been  saying  to  me.  I  should  be  forced 
to  tell  a  lie,  which  is  difficult  indeed  with  so  sly  and 
treacherous  a  man;  he  would  lay  traps  for  me.  But 
enough  of  my  own  miseries;  let  us  think  of  yours. 
The  forty  thousand  francs  you  want  would  be,  of 
course,  a  mere  nothing  to  Ferdinand,  who  handles 
millions  with  that  fat  banker,  Baron  de  Nucingen. 
Sometimes,  at  dinner,  in  my  presence,  they  say  things 
to  each  other  which  make  me  shudder.  Du  Tillet 
knows  my  discretion,  and  they  often  talk  freely  before 
me,  being  sure  of  my  silence.  Well,  robbery  and 
murder  on  the  high-road  seem  to  me  merciful  compared 
to  some  of  their  financial  schemes.  Nucingen  and 
he  no  more  mind  destroying  a  man  than  if  he  were  an 
animal.  Often  I  am  told  to  receive  poor  dupes  whose 
fate  I  have  heard  them  talk  of  the  night  before,  —  men 
who  rush  into  some  business  where  they  are  certain  to 
lose  their  all.  I  am  tempted,  like  Leonardo  in  the 
brigand's  cave,  to  cry  out,  'Beware!'  But  if  I  did, 
what  would  become  of  me?  So  I  keep  silence.  This 
splendid  house  is  a  cut-throat's  den!  But  Ferdinand 
and  Nucingen  will  lavish  millions  for  their  own 
caprices.  Ferdinand  is  now  buying  from  the  other 
du  Tillet  family  the  site  of  their  old  castle;  he  intends 
to  rebuild  it  and  add  a  forest  with  large  domains  to 
the  estate,  and  make  his  son  a  count;  he  declares 
that  by  the  third  generation  the  family  will  be  noble. 
Nucingen,  who  is  tired  of  his  house  in  the  rue  Saint- 
Lazare,  is  building  a  palace.     His  wife  is  a  friend  of 


22  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

mine —  Ah!"  she  cried,  interrupting  herself,  "she 
might  help  us;  she  is  very  bold  with  her  husband; 
her  fortune  is  in  her  own  right.  Yes,  she  could  save 
you." 

"Dear  heart,  I  have  but  a  few  hours  left;  let  us  go 
to  her  this  evening,  now,  instantly,"  said  Madame  de 
Vandenesse,  throwing  herself  into  Madame  du  Tillet's 
arms  with  a  burst  of  tears. 

"I  can't  go  out  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night,"  replied 
her  sister. 

"My  carriage  is  here." 

"What  are  you  two  plotting  together?"  said  du 
Tillet,  pushing  open  the  door  of  the  boudoir. 

He  came  in  showing  a  torpid  face  lighted  now  by  a 
speciously  amiable  expression.  The  carpets  had  dulled 
his  steps  and  the  preoccupation  of  the  two  sisters 
had  kept  them  from  noticing  the  noise  of  his  carriage- 
wheels  on  entering  the  court-yard.  The  countess,  in 
whom  the  habits  of  social  life  and  the  freedom  in 
which  her  husband  left  her  had  developed  both  wit 
and  shrewdness,  —  qualities  repressed  in  her  sister  by 
marital  despotism,  which  simply  continued  that  of 
their  mother,  — saw  that  Eugenie's  terror  was  on  the 
point  of  betraying  them,  and  she  evaded  that  danger 
by  a  frank  answer. 

"I  thought  my  sister  richer  than  she  is,"  she  replied, 
looking  straight  at  her  brother-in-law.  "Women  are 
sometimes  embarrassed  for  money,  and  do  not  wish 
to  tell  their  husbands,  like  Joséphine  with  Napoleon. 
I  came  here  to  ask  Eugénie  to  do  me  a  service." 

"She  can  easily  do  that,  madame.  Eugénie  is  very 
rich,"  replied  du  Tillet,  with  concealed  sarcasm. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  23 

"Is  she?"  replied  the  countess,  smiling  bitterly. 

"How  much  do  you  want?"  asked  du  Tillet,  who 
was  not  sorry  to  get  his  sister-in-law  into  his  meshes. 

"Ah,  monsieur!  but  I  have  told  you  already  we  do 
not  wish  to  let  our  husbands  into  this  affair,"  said 
Madame  de  Vandenesse,  cautiously, —  aware  that  if  she 
took  his  money,  she  would  put  herself  at  the  mercy  of 
the  man  whose  portrait  Eugénie  had  fortunately  drawn 
for  her  not  ten  minutes  earlier.  "I  will  come  to- 
morrow and  talk  with  Eugénie." 

"To-morrow?"  said  the  banker.  "No;  Madame 
du  Tillet  dines  to-morrow  with  a  future  peer  of  France, 
the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  who  is  to  leave  me  his  place 
in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies." 

"Then  permit  her  to  join  me  in  my  box  at  the 
Opera,"  said  the  countess,  without  even  glancing  at  her 
sister,  so  much  did  she  fear  that  Eugenie's  candor 
would  betray  them. 

"She  has  her  own  box,  madame,"  said  du  Tillet, 
nettled. 

"Very  good;  then  I  will  go  to  hers,"  replied  the 
countess. 

"It  will  be  the  first  time  you  have  done  us  that 
honor,"  said  du  Tillet. 

The  countess  felt  the  sting  of  that  reproach,  and 
began  to  laugh. 

"Well,  never  mind;  you  shall  not  be  made  to  pay 
anything  this  time.     Adieu,  my  darling." 

"She  is  an  insolent  woman,"  said  du  Tillet,  pick- 
ing up  the  flowers  that  had  fallen  on  the  carpet.  "You 
ought,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  "to  study  Madame  de 
Vandenesse.     I  'd  like  to  see  you  before  the  world  as 


24  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

insolent  and  overbearing  as  your  sister  has  just  been 
here.  You  have  a  silly,  bourgeois  air  which  I 
detest." 

Eugénie  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  as  her  only 
answer. 

"Ah  ça,  madame!  what  have  you  both  been  talking 
of?"  said  the  banker,  after  a  pause,  pointing  to  the 
flowers.  "What  has  happened  to  make  your  sister  so 
anxious  all  of  a  sudden  to  go  to  your  opera-box?  " 

The  poor  helot  endeavored  to  escape  questioning  on 
the  score  of  sleepiness,  and  turned  to  go  into  her 
dressing-room  to  prepare  for  the  night;  but  du  Tillet 
took  her  by  the  arm  and  brought  her  back  under  the 
full  light  of  the  wax-candles  which  were  burning  in 
two  silver-gilt  sconces  between  fragrant  nosegays. 
He  plunged  his  light  eyes  into  hers  and  said, 
coldly  :  — 

"Your  sister  came  here  to  borrow  forty  thousand 
francs  for  a  man  in  whom  she  takes  an  interest,  who  '11 
be  locked  up  within  three  days  in  a  debtor's  prison." 

The  poor  woman  was  seized  with  a  nervous  trem- 
bling, which  she  endeavored  to  repress. 

"You  alarm  me,"  she  said.  "But  my  sister  is  far 
too  well  brought  up,  and  she  loves  her  husband  too 
much  to  be  interested  in  any  man  to  that  extent." 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  he  said,  dryly.  "Girls 
brought  up  as  you  were,  in  the  constraints  and  practice 
of  piety,  have  a  thirst  for  liberty  ;  they  desire  happi- 
ness, and  the  happiness  they  get  in  marriage  is  never 
as  fine  as  that  they  dreamt  of.  Such  girls  make  bad 
wives." 

"Speak  for  me,"  said  poor  Eugénie,  in  a  tone  of 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  25 

bitter  feeling,  "  but  respect  my  sister.  The  Comtesse 
de  Vandenesse  is  happy;  her  husband  gives  her  too 
much  freedom  not  to  make  her  truly  attached  to  him. 
Besides,  if  your  supposition  were  true,  she  would 
never  have  told  me  of  such  a  matter." 

"It  is  true,"  he  said,  "and  I  forbid  you  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  affair.  My  interests  demand 
that  the  man  shall  go  to  prison.  Remember  my 
orders." 

Madame  du  Tillet  left  the  room. 

"She  will  disobey  me,  of  course,  and  I  shall  find  out 
all  the  facts  by  watching  her,"  thought  du  Tillet, 
when  alone  in  the  boudoir.  "These  poor  fools  always 
think  they  can  do  battle  against  us." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  rejoined  his  wife, 
or  to  speak  the  truth,  his  slave. 

The  confidence  made  to  Madame  du  Tillet  by 
Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse  is  connected  with  so 
many  points  of  the  latter' s  history  for  the  last  six 
years,  that  it  would  be  unintelligible  without  a  suc- 
cinct account  of  the  principal  events  of  her  life. 


26  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 


III. 


THE    HISTORY    OF   A    FORTUNATE    WOMAN. 

Among  the  remarkable  men  who  owed  their  destiny 
to  the  Restoration,  but  whom,  unfortunately,  the  re- 
stored monarchy  kept,  with  Martignac,  aloof  from  the 
concerns  of  government,  was  Félix  de  Vandenesse, 
removed,  with  several  others,  to  the  Chamber  of  peers 
during  the  last  days  of  Charles  X.  This  misfortune, 
though,  as  he  supposed,  temporary,  made  him  think  of 
marriage,  towards  which  he  was  also  led,  as  so  many 
men  are,  by  a  sort  of  disgust  for  the  emotions  of  gal- 
lantry, those  fairy  flowers  of  the  soul.  There  comes 
a  vital  moment  to  most  of  us  when  social  life  appears 
in  all  its  soberness. 

Félix  de  Vandenesse  had  been  in  turn  happy  and 
unhappy,  oftener  unhappy  than  happy,  like  men  who, 
at  their  start  in  life,  have  met  with  Love  in  its  most 
perfect  form.  Such  privileged  beings  can  never  subse- 
quently be  satisfied  ;  but,  after  fully  experiencing  life, 
and  comparing  characters ,  they  attain  to  a  certain  con- 
tentment, taking  refuge  in  a  spirit  of  general  indul- 
gence. No  one  deceives  them,  for  they  delude  them- 
selves no  longer;  but  their  resignation,  their  disillu- 
sionment is  always  graceful  ;  they  expect  what  comes, 
and  therefore  they  suffer  less.  Félix  might  still  rank 
amongr  the   handsomest  and  most   agreeable   men   in 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  27 

Paris.  He  was  originally  commended  to  many  women 
by  one  of  the  noblest  creatures  of  our  epoch,  Madame 
de  Mortsauf,  who  had  died,  it  was  said,  out  of  love 
and  grief  for  him  ;  but  he  was  specially  trained  for 
social  life  by  the  handsome  and  well-known  Lady 
Dudley. 

In  the  eyes  of  many  Parisian  women,  Félix,  a  sort 
of  hero  of  romance,  owed  much  of  his  success  to  the 
evil  that  was  said  of  him.  Madame  de  Manerville  had 
closed  the  list  of  his  amorous  adventures  ;  and  perhaps 
her  dismissal  had  something  to  do  with  his  frame  of 
mind.  At  any  rate,  without  being  in  any  way  a  Don 
Juan,  he  had  gathered  in  the  world  of  love  as  many 
disenchantments  as  he  had  met  with  in  the  world  of 
politics.  That  ideal  of  womanhood  and  of  passion, 
the  type  of  which  —  perhaps  to  his  sorrow  —  had 
lighted  and  governed  his  dawn  of  life,  he  despaired  of 
ever  finding  again. 

At  thirty  years  of  age,  Comte  Félix  determined  to 
put  an  end  to  the  burden  of  his  various  felicities  by 
marriage.  On  that  point  his  ideas  were  extremely 
fixed;  he  wanted  a  young  girl  brought  up  in  the 
strictest  tenets  of  Catholicism.  It  was  enough  for  him 
to  know  how  the  Comtesse  de  Granville  had  trained  her 
daughters  to  make  him,  after  he  had  once  resolved  on 
marriage,  request  the  hand  of  the  eldest.  He  himself 
had  suffered  under  the  despotism  of  a  mother;  he  still 
remembered  his  unhappy  childhood  too  well  not  to 
recognize,  beneath  the  reserves  of  feminine  shyness, 
the  state  to  which  such  a  yoke  must  have  brought  the 
heart  of  a  young  girl,  whether  that  heart  was  soured, 
embittered,  or  rebellious,  or  whether  it  was  still  peace- 


28  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

ful,  lovable,  and  ready  to  unclose  to  noble  sentiments. 
Tyranny  produces  two  opposite  effects,  the  symbols 
of  which  exist  in  two  grand  figures  of  ancient  slavery, 
Epictetus  and  Spartacus,  —  hatred  and  evil  feelings 
on  the  one  hand,  resignation  and  tenderness,  on  the 
other. 

The  Comte  de  Vandenesse  recognized  himself  in 
Marie-Angélique  de  Granville.  In  choosing  for  his 
wife  an  artless,  innocent,  and  pure  young  girl,  this 
young  old  man  determined  to  mingle  a  paternal  feeling 
with  the  conjugal  feeling.  He  knew  his  own  heart 
was  withered  by  the  world  and  by  politics,  and  he  felt 
that  he  was  giving  in  exchange  for  a  dawning  life  the 
remains  of  a  worn-out  existence.  Beside  those 
springtide  flowers  he  was  putting  the  ice  of  winter; 
hoary  experience  with  young  and  innocent  ignorance. 
After  soberly  judging  the  position,  he  took  up  his 
conjugal  career  with  ample  precaution;  indulgence 
and  perfect  confidence  were  the  two  anchors  to  which 
he  moored  it.  Mothers  of  families  ought  to  seek  such 
men  for  their  daughters.  A  good  mind  protects  like  a 
divinity;  disenchantment  is  as*keen-sighted  as  a  sur- 
geon; experience  as  foreseeing  as  a  mother.  Those 
three  qualities  are  the  cardinal  virtues  of  a  safe  mar- 
riage. All  that  his  past  career  had  taught  to  Félix 
de  Vandenesse,  the  observations  of  a  life  that  was 
busy,  literary,  and  thoughtful  by  turns,  all  his  forces, 
in  fact,  were  now  employed  in  making  his  wife 
happy  ;  to  that  end  he  applied  his  mind. 

When  Marie- Angélique  left  the  maternal  purgatory, 
she  rose  at  once  into  the  conjugal  paradise  prepared 
for  her  by  Félix,  rue  du  Rocher,  in  a  house  where  all 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  29 

things  were  redolent  of  aristocracy,  but  where  the 
varnish  of  society  did  not  impede  the  ease  and  laisser- 
aller  which  young  and  loving  hearts  desire  so  much. 
From  the  start,  Marie- Angélique  tasted  all  the  sweets 
of  material  life  to  the  very  utmost.  For  two  years 
her  husband  made  himself,  as  it  were,  her  purveyor. 
He  explained  to  her  by  degrees,  and  with  great 
art,  the  things  of  life;  he  initiated  her  slowly  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  highest  society;  he  taught  her 
the  genealogies  of  noble  families  ;  he  showed  her  the 
world;  he  guided  her  taste  in  dress;  he  trained  her 
to  converse;  he  took  her  from  theatre  to  theatre,  and 
made  her  study  literature  and  current  history.  This 
education  he  accomplished  with  all  the  care  of  a  lover, 
father,  master,  and  husband  ;  but  he  did  it  soberly  and 
discreetly;  he  managed  both  enjoyments  and  instruc- 
tions in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  destroy  the  value  of 
her  religious  ideas.  In  short,  he  carried  out  his  enter- 
prise with  the  wisdom  of  a  great  master.  At  the  end 
of  four  years,  he  had  the  happiness  of  having  formed 
in  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  one  of  the  most  lov- 
able and  remarkable  young  women  of  our  day. 

Marie- Angélique  felt  for  Félix  precisely  the  feelings 
with  which  Félix  desired  to  inspire  her,  —  true  friend- 
ship, sincere  gratitude,  and  a  fraternal  love,  in  which 
was  mingled,  at  certain  times,  a  noble  and  dignified 
tenderness,  such  as  tenderness  between  husband  and 
wife  ought  to  be.  She  was  a  mother,  and  a  good 
mother.  Félix  had  therefore  attached  himself  to  his 
young  wife  by  every  bond  without  any  appearance  of 
garroting  her,  —  relying  for  his  happiness  on  the 
charms  of  habit. 


30  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

None  but  men  trained  in  the  school  of  life  —  men 
who  have  gone  round  the  circle  of  disillusionment, 
political  and  amorous  —  are  capable  of  following  out  a 
course  like  this.  Félix,  however,  found  in  his  work 
the  same  pleasure  'that  .painters,  writers,  architects 
take  in  their  creations.  He  doubly  enjoyed  both  the 
work  and  its  fruition  as  he  admired  his  wife,  so  art- 
less, yet  so  well-informed,  witty,  but  natural,  lovable 
and  chaste,  a  girl,  and  yet  a  mother,  perfectly  free, 
though  bound  by  the  chains  of  Tightness.  The  history 
of  all  good  homes  is  that  of  prosperous  peoples;  it 
can  be  written  in  two  lines,  and  has  in  it  nothing  for 
literature.  So,  as  happiness  is  only  explicable  to  and 
by  itself,  these  four  years  furnish  nothing  to  relate 
which  was  not  as  tender  as  the  soft  outlines  of  eternal 
cherubs,  as  insipid,  alas!  as  manna,  and  about  as 
amusing  as  the  tale  of  "Astrea." 

In  1833,  this  edifice  of  happiness,  so  carefully  erected 
by  Félix  de  Vandenesse,  began  to  crumble,  weakened 
at  its  base  without  his  knowledge.  The  heart  of  a 
woman  of  twenty-five  is  no  longer  that  of  a  girl  of 
eighteen,  any  more  than  the  heart  of  a  woman  of  forty 
is  that  of  a  woman  of  thirty.  There  are  four  ages 
in  the  life  of  woman  ;  each  age  creates  a  new  woman. 
Vandenesse  knew,  no  doubt,  the  law  of  these  transfor- 
mations (created  by  our  modern  manners  and  morals), 
but  he  forgot  them  in  his  own  case,  —  just  as  the 
best  grammarian  will  forget  a  rule  of  grammar  in  writ- 
ing a  book,  or  the  greatest  general  on  the  field  under 
fire,  surprised  by  some  unlooked-for  change  of  base, 
forgets  his  military  tactics.  The  man  who  can  per- 
petually bring  his  thought  to  bear  upon  his  facts  is  a 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  31 

man  of  genius;  but  the  man  of  the  highest  genius 
does  not  display  genius  at  all  times;  if  he  did,  he 
would  be  like  to  God. 

After  four  years  of  this  life,  with  never  a  shock  to 
the  soul,  nor  a  word  that  produced  the  slightest  dis- 
cord in  this  sweet  concert  of  sentiment,  the  countess, 
feeling  herself  developed  like  a  beautiful  plant  in  a 
fertile  soil,  caressed  by  the  sun  of  a  cloudless  sky, 
awoke  to  a  sense  of  a  new  self.  This  crisis  of  her 
life,  the  subject  of  this  Scene,  would  be  incomprehen- 
sible without  certain  explanations,  which  may  extenu- 
ate in  the  eyes  of  women  the  wrong-doing  of  this 
young  countess,  a  happy  wife,  a  happy  mother,  who 
seems,  at  first  sight,  inexcusable. 

Life  results  from  the  action  of  two  opposing  prin- 
ciples ;  when  one  of  them  is  lacking  the  being  suffers. 
Vandenesse,  by  satisfying  every  need,  had  suppressed 
desire,  that  king  of  creation,  which  fills  an  enormous 
place  in  the  moral  forces.  Extreme  heat,  extreme 
sorrow,  complete  happiness,  are  all  despotic  principles 
that  reigri  over  spaces  devoid  of  production;  they 
insist  on  being  solitary;  they  stifle  all  that  is  not 
themselves.  Vandenesse  was  not  a  woman,  and  none 
but  women  know  the  art  of  varying  happiness  ;  hence 
their  coquetry,  refusals,  fears,  quarrels,  and  the  all- 
wise  clever  foolery  with  which  they  put  in  doubt  the 
things  that  seemed  to  be  without  a  cloud  the  night 
before.  Men  m&y  weary  by  their  constancy,  but 
women  never.  Vandenesse  was  too  thoroughly  kind 
by  nature  to  worry  deliberately  the  woman  he  loved; 
on  the  contrary,  he  kept  her  in  the  bluest  and  least 
cloudy  heaven  of  love.     The  problem  of  eternal  beati- 


32  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

tude  is  one  of  those  whose  solution  is  known  only  to 
God.  Here,  below,  the  sublimest  poets  have  simply 
harassed  their  readers  when  attempting  to  picture 
paradise.  Dante's  reef  was  that  of  Vandenesse;  all 
honor  to  such  courage  ! 

Felix's  wife  began  to  find  monotony  in  an  Eden  so 
well  arranged;  the  perfect  happiness  which  the  first 
woman  found  in  her  terrestrial  paradise  gave  her  at 
length  a  sort  of  nausea  of  sweet  things,  and  made 
the  countess  wish,  like  Rivarol  reading  Florian,  for 
a  wolf  in  the  fold.  Such,  judging  by  the  history  of 
ages,  appears  to  be  the  meaning  of  that  emblematic 
serpent  to  which  Eve  listened,  in  all  probability,  out 
of  ennui.  This  deduction  may  seem  a  little  venture- 
some to  Protestants,  who  take  the  book  of  Genesis 
more  seriously  than  the  Jews  themselves. 

The  situation  of  Madame  de  Vandenesse  can,  how- 
ever, be  explained  without  recourse  to  Biblical  images. 
She  felt  in  her  soul  an  enormous  power  that  was  unem- 
ployed. Her  happiness  gave  her  no  suffering  ;  it  rolled 
along  without  care  or  uneasiness  ;  she  was  not  afraid 
of  losing  it;  each  morning  it  shone  upon  her,  with  the 
same  blue  sky,  the  same  smile,  the  same  sweet  words. 
That  clear,  still  lake  was  unruffled  by  any  breeze, 
even  a  zephyr;  she  would  fain  have  seen  a  ripple 
on  its  glassy  surface.  Her  desire  had  something  so 
infantine  about  it  that  it  ought  to  be  excused;  but 
society  is  not  more  indulgent  than  the  God  of  Gen- 
esis. Madame  de  Vandenesse,  having  now  become 
intelligently  clever,  was  aware  that  such  sentiments 
were  not  permissible,  and  she  refrained  from  confid- 
ing them  to  her  "dear  little  husband."     Her  genuine 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  33 

simplicity  had  not  invented  any  other  name  for  him  ; 
for  one  ,can't  call  up  in  cold  blood  that  delightfully 
exaggerated  language  which  love  imparts  to  its  vic- 
tims in  the  midst  of  flames. 

Vandenesse,  glad  of  this  adorable  reserve,  kept  his 
wife,  by  deliberate  calculations,  in  the  temperate 
regions  of  conjugal  affection.  He  never  condescended 
to  seek  a  reward  or  even  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
infinite  pains  which  he  gave  himself  ;  his  wife  thought 
his  luxury  and  good  taste  her  natural  right,  and  she 
felt  no  gratitude  for  the  fact  that  her  pride  and  self- 
love  had  never  suffered.  It  was  thus  in  everything. 
Kindness  has  its  mishaps;  often  it  is  attributed  to 
temperament;  people  are  seldom  willing  to  recognize 
it  as  the  secret  effort  of  a  noble  soul. 

About  this  period  of  her  life,  Madame  Félix  de 
Vandenesse  had  attained  to  a  degree  of  worldly  knowl- 
edge which  enabled  her  to  quit  the  insignificant  rôle 
of  a  timid,  listening,  and  observing  supernumerary, 
—  a  part  played,  they  say,  for  some  time,  by  Giulia 
Grisi  in  the  chorus  at  La  Scala.  The  young  countess 
now  felt  herself  capable  of  attempting  the  part  of 
prima-donna,  and  she  did  so  on  several  occasions. 
To  the  great  satisfaction  of  her  husband,  she  began 
to  mingle  in  conversations.  Intelligent  ideas  and 
delicate  observations  put  into  her  mind  by  her  inter- 
course with  her  husband,  made  her  remarked  upon, 
and  success  emboldened  her.  Vandenesse,  to  whom 
the  world  admitted  that  his  wife  was  beautiful,  was 
delighted  when  the  same  assurance  was  given  that  she 
was  clever  and  witty.  On  their  return  from  a  ball, 
concert,  or  rout  where  Marie  bad  shone   brilliantly, 

3 


34  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

she  would  turn  to  her  husband,  as  she  took  off  her 
ornaments,  and  say,  with  a  joyous,  self  assured  air,  — 
4 'Were  you  pleased  with  me  this  evening?  " 
The  countess  excited  jealousies  ;  among  others  that 
of  her  husband's  sister,  Madame  de  Listomère,  who 
until  now  had  patronized  her,  thinking  that  she  pro- 
tected a  foil  to  her  own  merits.  A  countess,  beauti- 
ful, witty  and  virtuous  !  —  what  a  prey  for  the  tongues 
of  the  world!  Félix  had  broken  with  too  many 
women,  and  too  many  women  had  broken  with  him, 
to  leave  them  indifferent  to  his  marriage.  When  these 
women  beheld  in  Madame  de  Vandenesse  a  small 
woman  with  red  hands,  and  rather  awkward  manner, 
saying  little,  and  apparently  not  thinking  much,  they 
thought  themselves  sufficiently  avenged.  The  disas- 
ters of  July,  1830,  supervened;  society  was  dissolved 
for  two  years;  the  rich  evaded  the  turmoil  and  left 
Paris  either  for  foreign  travel  or  for  their  estates  in  the 
country,  and  none  of  the  salons  reopened  until  1833. 
When  that  time  came,  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain 
still  sulked,  but  it  held  intercourse  with  a  few  houses, 
regarding  them  as  neutral  ground,  —  among  others  that 
of  the  Austrian  ambassador,  where  the  legitimist 
society  and  the  new  social  world  met  together  in  the 
persons  of  their  best  representatives. 

Attached  by  many  ties  of  the  heart  and  by  grati- 
tude to  the  exiled  family,  and  strong  in  his  personal 
convictions,  Vandenesse  did  not  consider  himself 
obliged  to  imitate  the  silly  behavior  of  his  party. 
In  times  of  danger,  he  had  done  his  duty  at  the  risk 
of  his  life;  his  fidelity  had  never  been  compromised, 
and  he  determined  to  take  his  wife  into  general  soci- 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  35 

ety  without  fear  of  its  becoming  so.  His  former  mis- 
tresses could  scarcely  recognize  the  bride  they  had 
thought  so  childish  in  the  elegant,  witty,  and  gentle 
countess,  who  now  appeared  in  society  with  the  ex- 
quisite manners  of  the  highest  female  aristocracy. 
Mesdames  d'Espard,  de  Manerville,  and  Lady  Dudley, 
with  others  less  known,  felt  the  serpent  waking  up  in 
the  depths  of  their  hearts  ;  they  heard  the  low  hissings 
of  angry  pride;  they  were  jealous  of  Felix's  happi- 
ness, and  would  gladly  have  given  their  prettiest 
jewel  to  do  him  some  harm  ;  but  instead  of  being  hos- 
tile to  the  countess,  these  kind,  ill-natured  women  sur- 
rounded her,  showed  her  the  utmost  friendship,  and 
praised  her  to  men.  Sufficiently  aware  of  their  inten- 
tions, Félix  watched  their  relations  with  Marie,  and 
warned  her  to  distrust  them.  They  all  suspected  the 
uneasiness  of  the  count  at  their  intimacy  with  his 
wife,  and  they  redoubled  their  attentions  and  flat- 
teries, so  that  they  gave  her  an  enormous  vogue  in 
society,  to  the  great  displeasure  of  her  sister-in-law, 
the  Marquise  de  Listomère,  who  could  not  understand 
it.  The  Comtesse  Félix  de  Vandenesse  was  cited  as 
the  most  charming  and  the  cleverest  woman  in  Paris. 
Marie's  other  sister-in-law,  the  Marquise  Charles  de 
Vandenesse,  was  consumed  with  vexation  at  the  confu- 
sion of  names  and  the  comparisons  it  sometimes 
brought  about.  Though  the  marquise  was  a  handsome 
and  clever  woman,  her  rivals  took  delight  in  compar- 
ing her  with  her  sister-in-law,  with  all  the  more  point 
because  the  countess  was  a  dozen  years  younger. 
These  women  knew  very  well  what  bitterness  Marie's 
social  vogue  would  bring  into  her  intercourse  with  both 


36  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

of  her  sisters-in-law,  who,  in  fact,  became  cold  and 
disobliging  in  proportion  to  her  triumph  in  society. 
She  was  thus  surrounded  by  dangerous  relations  and 
intimate  enemies. 

Every   one   knows   that   French   literature   at   that 
particular  period  was   endeavoring   to   defend    itself 
against  an  apathetic  indifference  (the  result  of  the 
political   drama)   by   producing  works   more   or  less 
Byronian,   in  which  the  only  topics  really  discussed 
were  conjugal   delinquencies.     Infringements  of   the 
marriage  tie  formed  the  staple  of  reviews,  books,  and 
dramas.     This  eternal  subject  grew  more  and  more  the 
fashion.     The  lover,  that  nightmare  of  husbands,  was 
everywhere,  except  perhaps  in  homes,  where,  in  point 
of  fact,  under  the  bourgeois  régime,  he  was  less  seen 
than  formerly.     It  is   not  when  every  one  rushes  to 
their   window   and   cries   "Thief!"    and    lights    the 
streets,  that  robbers  abound.     It  is  true  that  during 
those  years  so  fruitful  of  turmoil  —  urban,  political, 
and   moral  —  a   few   matrimonial    catastrophes    took 
place;  but  these  were  exceptional,  and  less  observed 
than   they   would   have   been   under  the  Restoration. 
Nevertheless,    women   talked   a   great   deal    together 
about  books  and  the  stage,  then  the  two  chief  forms 
of  poesy.     The  lover  thus  became  one  of  their  leading 
topics,  —  a   being   rare   in   point   of   fact   and  much 
desired.     The  few  affairs  which  were  known  gave  rise 
to  discussions,  and  these  discussions  were,  as  usually 
happens,  carried  on  by  immaculate  women. 

A  fact  worthy  of  remark  is  the  aversion  shown  to 
such  conversations  by  women  who  are  enjoying  some 
illicit  happiness  ;  they  maintain  before  the  eyes  of  the 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  37 

world  a  reserved,  prudish,  and  even  timid  counte- 
nance; they  seem  to  ask  silence  on  the  subject,  or 
some  condonation  of  their  pleasure  from  society. 
When,  on  the  contrary,  a  woman  talks  freely  of  such 
catastrophes,  and  seems  to  take  pleasure  in  doing  so, 
allowing  herself  to  explain  the  emotions  that  justify 
the  guilty  parties,  we  may  be  sure  that  she  herself  is 
at  the  crossways  of  indecision,  and  does  not  know 
what  road  she  might  take. 

During  this  winter,  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse 
heard  the  great  voice  of  the  social  world  roaring  in 
her  ears,  and  the  wind  of  its  stormy  gusts  blew  round 
her.  Her  pretended  friends,  who  maintained  their 
reputations  at  the  height  of  their  rank  and  their  posi- 
tions, often  produced  in  her  presence  the  seductive 
idea  of  the  lover;  they  cast  into  her  soul  certain  ardent 
talk  of  love,  the  mot  d'énigme  which  life  propounds 
to  woman,  the  grand  passion,  as  Madame  de  Staël 
called  it,  —  preaching  by  example.  When  the  coun- 
tess asked  naively,  in  a  small  and  select  circle  of 
these  friends,  what  difference  there  was  between  a 
lover  and  a  husband,  all  those  who  wished  evil  to 
Félix  took  care  to  reply  in  a  way  to  pique  her  curi- 
osity, or  fire  her  imagination,  or  touch  her  heart,  or 
interest  her  mind. 

"Oh!  my  dear,  we  vegetate  with  a  husband,  but  we 
live  with  a  lover,"  said  her  sister-in-law,  the  mar- 
quise. 

"Marriage,  my  dear,  is  our  purgatory;  love  is 
paradise,"  said  Lady  Dudley. 

"Don't  believe  her,"  cried  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches;  "it  is  hell." 


38  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"But  a  hell  we  like,"  remarked  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide.  "There  is  often  more  pleasure  in  suffering  than 
in  happiness;  look  at  the  martyrs!  " 

"With  a  husband,  my  dear  innocent,  we  live,  as 
it  were,  in  our  own  life  ;  but  to  love,  is  to  live  in  the 
life  of  another,"  said  the  Marquise  d'Espard. 

"A  lover  is  forbidden  fruit,  and  that  to  me,  says 
all!  "  cried  the  pretty  Mo'ma  de  Saint-Héren,  laughing. 

When  she  was  not  at  some  diplomatic  rout,  or  at  a 
ball  given  by  rich  foreigners,  like  Lady  Dudley  or  the 
Princesse  Galathionne,  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse 
might  be  seen,  after  the  Opera,  at  the  houses  of 
Madame  d'Espard,  the  Marquise  de  Listomère, 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  the  Comtesse  de  Mont- 
cornet,  or  the  Vicomtesse  de  Grandlieu,  the  only  aris- 
tocratic houses  then  open;  and  never  did  she  leave 
any  one  of  them  without  some  evil  seed  of  the  world 
being  sown  in  her  heart.  She  heard  talk  of  complet- 
ing her  life,  —  a  saying  much  in  fashion  in  those 
days;  of  being  comprehended,  —  another  word  to 
which  women  gave  strange  meanings.  She  often 
returned  home  uneasy,  excited,  curious,  and  thought- 
ful. She  began  to  find  something  less,  she  hardly 
knew  what,  in  her  life  ;  but  she  did  not  yet  go  so  far 
as  to  think  it  lonely. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  39 


IV. 


A  CELEBRATED  MAN. 


The  most  amusing  society,  but  also  the  most  mixed, 
which  Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse  frequented, 
was  that  of  the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet,  a  charming 
little  woman,  who  received  illustrious  artists,  leading 
financial  personages,  distinguished  writers;  but  only 
after  subjecting  them  to  so  rigid  an  examination  that 
the  most  exclusive  aristocrat  had  nothing  to  fear  in 
coming  in  contact  with  this  second-class  society.  The 
loftiest  pretensions  were  there  respected. 

During  the  winter  of  1833,  when  society  rallied 
after  the  revolution  of  July,  some  salons,  notably 
those  of  Mesdames  d'Espard  and  de  Listomère,  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  and  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu, 
had  selected  certain  of  the  celebrities  in  art,  science, 
literature,  and  politics,  and  received  them.  Society 
can  lose  nothing  of  its  rights,  and  it  must  be  amused. 
At  a  concert  given  by  Madame  de  Montcornet  toward 
the  close  of  the  winter  of  1833,  a  man  of  rising  fame 
in  literature  and  politics  appeared  in  her  salon,  brought 
there  by  one  of  the  wittiest,  but  also  one  of  the  laziest 
writers  of  that  epoch,  Emile  Blondet,  celebrated  behind 
closed  doors,  highly  praised  by  journalists,  but  un- 
known beyond  the  barriers.  Blondet  himself  was 
well  aware  of  this;  he  indulged  in  no  illusions,  and, 


40  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

among  his  other  witty  and  contemptuous  sayings,  he 
was  wont  to  remark  that  fame  is  a  poison  good  to  take 
in  little  doses. 

From  the  moment  when  the  man  we  speak  of,  Raoul 
Nathan,  after  a  long  struggle,  forced  his  way  to  the 
public  gaze,  he  had  put  to  profit  the  sudden  infatuation 
for  form  manifested  by  those  elegant  descendants  of 
the  middle  ages,  jestingly  called  Young  France.  He 
assumed  the  singularities  of  a  man  of  genius  and 
enrolled  himself  among  those  adorers  of  art,  whose 
intentions,  let  us  say,  were  excellent;  for  surely 
nothing  could  be  more  ridiculous  than  the  costume  of 
Frenchmen  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  nothing 
more  courageous  than  an  attempt  to  reform  it.  Raoul, 
let  us  do  him  this  justice,  presents  in  his  person  some- 
thing fine,  fantastic,  and  extraordinary,  which  needs 
a  frame.  His  enemies,  or  his  friends,  they  are  about 
the  same  thing,  agree  that  nothing  could  harmonize 
better  with  his  mind  than  his  outward  form. 

Raoul  Nathan  would,  perhaps,  be  more  singular  if 
left  to  his  natural  self  than  he  is  with  his  various 
accompaniments.  His  worn  and  haggard  face  gives 
him  an  appearance  of  having  fought  with  angels  or 
devils;  it  bears  some  resemblance  to  that  the  Ger- 
man painters  give  to  the  dead  Christ;  countless  signs 
of  a  constant  struggle  between  failing  human  nature 
and  the  powers  on  high  appear  in  it.  But  the  lines  in 
his  hollow  cheeks,  the  projections  of  his  crooked, 
furrowed  skull,  the  caverns  around  his  eyes  and  be- 
hind his  temples,  show  nothing  weakly  in  his  constitu- 
tion. His  hard  membranes,  his  visible  bones  are  the 
signs  of  remarkable  solidity;   and  though  his  skin, 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  41 

discolored  by  excesses,  clings  to  those  bones  as  if 
dried  there  by  inward  fires,  it  nevertheless  covers  a 
most  powerful  structure.  He  is  thin  and  tall.  His 
long  hair,  always  in  disorder,  is  worn  so  for  effect. 
This  ill-combed,  ill-made  Byron  has  heron  legs  and 
stiffened  knee-joints,  an  exaggerated  stoop,  hands 
with  knotty  muscles,  firm  as  a  crab's  claws,  and  long, 
thin,  wiry  fingers.  Raoul' s  eyes  are  Napoleonic,  blue 
eyes,  which  pierce  to  the  soul  ;  his  nose  is  crooked  and 
very  shrewd;  his  mouth  charming,  embellished  with 
the  whitest  teeth  that  any  woman  could  desire.  There 
is  fire  and  movement  in  the  head,  and  genius  on  that 
brow.  Raoul  belongs  to  the  small  number  of  men  who 
strike  your  mind  as  you  pass  them,  and  who,  in  a 
salon,  make  a  luminous  spot  to  which  all  eyes  are 
attracted. 

He  makes  himself  remarked  also  by  his  neglige,  if 
we  may  borrow  from  Molière  the  word  which  Eliante 
uses  to  express  the  want  of  personal  neatness.  His 
clothes  always  seem  to  have  been  twisted,  frayed,  and 
crumpled  intentionally,  in  order  to  harmonize  with  his 
physiognomy.  He  keeps  one  of  his  hands  habitually 
in  the  bosom  of  his  waistcoat  in  the  pose  which 
Girodet's  portrait  of  Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand  has 
rendered  famous;  but  less  to  imitate  that  great  mau 
(for  he  does  not  wish  to  resemble  any  one)  than  to 
rumple  the  over-smooth  front  of  his  shirt.  His  cravat 
is  no  sooner  put  on  than  it  is  twisted  by  the  convul- 
sive motions  of  his  head,  which  are  quick  and  abrupt, 
like  those  of  a  thoroughbred  horse  impatient  of  har- 
ness, and  constantly  tossing  up  its  head  to  rid  itself 
of   bit  and  bridle.     His  long   and  pointed   beard   is 


42  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

neither  combed,  nor  perfumed,  nor  brushed,  nor 
trimmed,  like  those  of  the  elegant  young  men  of  soci- 
ety; he  lets  it  alone,  to  grow  as  it  will.  His  hair, 
getting  between  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  his  cravat, 
lies  luxuriantly  on  his  shoulders,  and  greases  whatever 
spot  it  touches.  His  wiry,  bony  hands  ignore  a  nail- 
brush and  the  luxury  of  lemon.  Some  of  his  co- 
feuilletonists  declare  that  purifying  waters  seldom 
touch  their  calcined  skin. 

In  short,  the  terrible  Raoul  is  grotesque.  His 
movements  are  jerky,  as  if  produced  by  imperfect 
machinery  ;  his  gait  rejects  all  idea  of  order,  and  pro- 
ceeds by  spasmodic  zig-zags  and  sudden  stoppages, 
which  knock  him  violently  against  peaceable  citizens 
on  the  streets  and  boulevards  of  Paris.  His  conver- 
sation, full  of  caustic  humor,  of  bitter  satire,  follows 
the  gait  of  his  body;  suddenly  it  abandons  its  tone  of 
vengeance  and  turns  sweet,  poetic,  consoling,  gentle, 
without  apparent  reason;  he  falls  into  inexplicable 
silences,  or  turns  somersets  of  wit,  which  at  times 
are  somewhat  wearying.  In  society,  he  is  boldly 
awkward,  and  exhibits  a  contempt  for  conventions 
and  a  critical  air  about  things  respected  which  makes 
him  unpleasant  to  narrow  minds,  and  also  to  those  who 
strive  to  preserve  the  doctrines  of  old-fashioned, 
gentlemanly  politeness  ;  but  for  all  that  there  is  a  sort 
of  lawless  originality  about  him  which  women  do  not 
dislike.  Besides,  to  them,  he  is  often  most  amiably 
courteous  ;  he  seems  to  take  pleasure  in  making  them 
forget  his  personal  singularities,  and  thus  obtains  a 
victory  over  antipathies  which  flatters  either  his 
vanity,  his  self-love,  or  his  pride. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  43 

"Why  do  you  present  yourself  like  that?"  said  the 
Marquise  de  Vandenesse  one  day. 

"Pearls  live  in  oyster-shells,"  he  answered,  con- 
ceitedly. 

To  another  who  asked  him  somewhat  the  same  ques- 
tion, he  replied,  — 

"If  I  were  charming  to  all  the  world,  how  could  I 
seem  better  still  to  the  one  woman  I  wish  to  please?  " 

Raoul  Nathan  imports  this  same  natural  disorder 
(which  he  uses  as  a  banner)  into  his  intellectual  life  ; 
and  the  attribute  is  not  misleading.  His  talent  is 
very  much  that  of  the  poor  girls  who  go  about  in  bour- 
geois families  to  work  by  the  day.  He  was  first  a 
critic,  and  a  great  critic;  but  he  felt  himself  cheated 
in  that  vocation.  His  articles  were  equal  to  books,  he 
said.  The  profits  of  theatrical  work  then  allured  him  ; 
but,  incapable  of  the  slow  and  steady  application 
required  for  stage  arrangement,  he  was  forced  to  asso- 
ciate with  himself  a  vaudevillist,  du  Bruel,  who  took 
his  ideas,  worked  them  over,  and  reduced  them  into 
those  productive  little  pieces,  full  of  wit,  which  are 
written  expressly  for  actors  and  actresses.  Between 
them,  they  had  invented  Florine,  an  actress  now  in 
vogue. 

Humiliated  by  this  association,  which  was  that  of 
the  Siamese  twins,  Nathan  had  produced  alone,  at 
the  Théâtre-Français,  a  serious  drama,  which  fell  with 
all  the  honors  of  war  amid  salvos  of  thundering 
articles.  In  his  youth  he  had  once  before  appeared  at 
the  great  and  noble  Théâtre-Français  in  a  splendid 
romantic  play  of  the  style  of  "Pinto,"  —  a  period  when 
the   classic    reigned   supreme.      The   Odéon   was   so 


44  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

violently  agitated  for  three  nights  that  the  play  was 
forbidden  by  the  censor.  This  second  piece  was  con- 
sidered by  many  a  masterpiece,  and  won  him  more 
real  reputation  than  all  his  productive  little  pieces 
done  with  collaborators,  —  but  only  among  a  class  to 
whom  little  attention  is  paid,  that  of  connnoisseurs 
and  persons  of  true  taste. 

"Make  another  failure  like  that,"  said  Emile  Blon- 
det,  "and  you'll  be  immortal." 

But  instead  of  continuing  in  that  difficult  path, 
Nathan  had  fallen,  out  of  sheer  necessity,  into  the 
powder  and  patches  of  eighteenth-century  vaudeville, 
costume  plays,  and  the  reproduction,  scenically,  of 
successful  novels. 

Nevertheless,  he  passed  for  a  great  mind  which  had 
not  said  its  last  word.  He  had,  moreover,  attempted 
permanent  literature,  having  published  three  novels, 
not  to  speak  of  several  others  which  he  kept  in  press 
like  fish  in  a  tank.  One  of  these  three  books,  the 
first  (like  that  of  many  writers  who  can  only  make  one 
real  trip  into  literature),  had  obtained  a  very  brilliant 
success.  This  work,  imprudently  placed  in  the  front 
rank,  this  really  artistic  work  he  was  never  weary  of 
calling  the  finest  book  of  the  period,  the  novel  of  the 
century. 

Raoul  complained  bitterly  of  the  exigencies  of  art. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  contributed  most  to  bring  all 
created  work,  pictures,  statues,  books,  building  under 
the  single  standard  of  Art.  He  had  begun  his  career 
by  committing  a  volume  of  verse,  which  won  him  a 
place  in  the  pléiades  of  living  poets;  among  these 
verses  was  a  nebulous  poem  that  was  greatly  admired. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  45 

Forced  by  want  of  means  to  keep  on  producing,  he 
went  from  the  theatre  to  the  press,  and  from  the  press 
to  the  theatre,  dissipating  and  scattering  his  talent, 
but  believing  always  in  his  vein.  His  fame  was  there- 
fore not  unpublished  like  that  of  so  many  great  minds 
in  extremity,  who  sustain  themselves  only  by  the 
thought  of  work  to  be  done. 

Nathan  resembled  a  man  of  genius;  and  had  he 
marched  to  the  scaffold,  as  he  sometimes  wished  he 
could  have  done,  he  might  have  struck  his  brow  with 
the  famous  action  of  André  Chenier.  Seized  with 
political  ambition  on  seeing  the  rise  to  power  of  a 
dozen  authors,  professors,  metaphysicians,  and  histo- 
rians, who  incrusted  themselves,  so  to  speak,  upon  the 
machine  during  the  turmoils  of  1830  and  1833,  he 
regretted  that  he  had  not  spent  his  time  on  political 
instead  of  literary  articles.  He  thought  himself  supe- 
rior to  all  those  parvenus,  whose  success  inspired  him 
with  consuming  jealousy.  He  belonged  to  the  class 
of  minds  ambitious  of  everything,  capable  of  all 
things,  from  whom  success  is,  as  it  were,  stolen; 
who  go  their  way  dashing  at  a  hundred  luminous 
points,  and  settling  upon  none,  exhausting  at  last 
the  good-will  of  others. 

At  this  particular  time  he  was  going  from  Saint- 
Simonism  into  republicanism,  to  return,  very  likely, 
to  ministerialism.  He  looked  for  a  bone  to  gnaw  in 
all  corners,  searching  for  a  safe  place  where  he  could 
bark  secure  from  kicks  and  make  himself  feared.  But 
he  had  the  mortification  of  finding  he  was  held  to  be 
of  no  account  by  de  Marsay,  then  at  the  head  of  the 
government,  who  had  no  consideration  whatever  for 


46  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

authors,  among  whom  he  did  not  find  what  Richelieu 
called  a  consecutive  mind,  or  more  correctly,  continuity 
of  ideas  ;  he  counted  as  any  minister  would  have  done 
on  the  constant  embarrassment  of  Raoul's  business 
affairs.  Sooner  or  later,  necessity  would  bring  him  to 
accept  conditions  instead  of  imposing  them. 

The  real,  but  carefully  concealed  character  of  Raoul 
Nathan  is  of  a  piece  with  his  public  career.  He  is  a 
comedian  in  good  faith,  selfish  as  if  the  State  were 
himself,  and  a  very  clever  orator.  No  one  knows 
better  how  to  play  off  sentiments,  glory  in  false  gran- 
deurs, deck  himself  with  moral  beauty,  do  honor  to 
his  nature  in  language,  and  pose  like  Alceste  while 
behaving  like  Philinte.  His  egotism  trots  along  pro- 
tected by  this  cardboard  armor,  and  often  almost 
reaches  the  end  he  seeks.  Lazy  to  a  superlative 
degree,  he  does  nothing,  however,  until  he  is  prodded 
by  the  bayonets  of  need.  He  is  incapable  of  con- 
tinued labor  applied  to  the  creation  of  a  work  ;  but,  in 
a  paroxysm  of  rage  caused  by  wounded  vanity,  or  in  a 
crisis  brought  on  by  creditors,  he  leaps  the  Eurotas 
and  attains  to  some  great  triumph  of  his  intellect. 
After  which,  weary,  and  surprised  at  having  created 
anything,  he  drops  back  into  the  marasmus  of  Parisian 
dissipation;  wants  become  formidable;  he  has  no 
strength  to  face  them  ;  and  then  he  comes  down  from 
his  pedestal  and  compromises. 

Influenced  by  a  false  idea  of  his  grandeur  and  of  his 
future,  —  the  measure  of  which  he  reckons  on  the  noble 
success  of  one  of  his  former  comrades,  one  of  the  few 
great  talents  brought  to  light  by  the  revolution  of 
July,  —  he  allows  himself,  in  order  to  get  out  of  his 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  47 

embarrassments,  certain  laxities  of  principle  with 
persons  who  are  friendly  to  him,  —  laxities  which 
never  come  to  the  surface,  but  are  buried  in  private 
life,  where  no  one  ever  mentions  or  complains  of 
them.  The  shallowness  of  his  heart,  the  impurity  of 
his  hand,  which  clasps  that  of  all  vices,  all  evils,  all 
treacheries,  all  opinions,  have  made  him  as  inviolable 
as  a  constitutional  king.  Venial  sins,  which  excite 
a  hue  and  cry  against  a  man  of  high  character,  are 
thought  nothing  of  in  him  ;  the  world  hastens  to  ex- 
cuse them.  Men  who  might  otherwise  be  inclined  to 
despise  him  shake  hands  with  him,  fearing  that  the 
day  may  come  when  they  will  need  him.  He  has,  in 
fact,  so  many  friends  that  he  wishes  for  enemies. 

Judged  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  Nathan  lacks 
style  and  cultivation.  Like  most  young  men,  ambi- 
tious of  literary  fame,  he  disgorges  to-day  what  he 
acquired  yesterday.  He  has  neither  the  time  nor  the 
patience  to  write  carefully  ;  he  does  not  observe,  but 
he  listens.  Incapable  of  constructing  a  vigorously 
framed  plot,  he  sometimes  makes  up  for  it  by  the 
impetuous  ardor  of  his  drawing.  He  "does  passion," 
to  use  a  term  of  the  literary  argot;  but  instead  of 
awaking  ideas,  his  heroes  are  simply  enlarged  individ- 
ualities, who  excite  only  fugitive  sympathies;  they 
are  not  connected  with  any  of  the  great  interests 
of  life,  and  consequently  they  represent  nothing. 
Nevertheless,  Nathan  maintains  his  ground  by  the 
quickness  of  his  mind,  by  those  lucky  hits  which 
billiard-players  call  a  "good  stroke."  He  is  the  clev- 
erest shot  at  ideas  on  the  fly  in  all  Paris.  His  fecun- 
dity is  not  his  own,  but  that  of  his  epoch;  he  lives  on 


48  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

chance  events,  and  to  control  them  he  distorts  their 
meaning.  In  short,  he  is  not  true;  his  presentation 
is  false;  in  him,  as  Comte  Félix  said,  is  the  born 
juggler.  Moreover,  his  pen  gets  its  ink  in  the 
boudoir  of  an  actress. 

Raoul  Nathan  is  a  fair  type  of  the  Parisian  literary 
youth  of  the  day,  with  its  false  grandeurs  and  its  real 
misery.  He  represents  that  youth  by  his  incomplete 
beauties  and  his  headlong  falls,  by  the  turbulent 
torrent  of  his  existence,  with  its  sudden  reverses  and 
its  unhoped-for  triumphs.  He  is  truly  the  child  of  a 
century  consumed  with  envy,  —  a  century  with  a  thou- 
sand rivalries  lurking  under  many  a  system,  which 
nourish  to  their  own  profit  that  hydra  of  anarchy 
which  wants  wealth  without  toil,  fame  without  talent, 
success  without  effort,  but  whose  vices  force  it,  after 
much  rebellion  and  many  skirmishes,  to  accept  the 
budget  under  the  powers  that  be.  When  so  many 
young  ambitions,  starting  on  foot,  give  one  another 
rendezvous  at  the  same  point,  there  is  always  conten- 
tion of  wills,  extreme  wretchedness,  bitter  struggles. 
In  this  dreadful  battle,  selfishness,  the  most  overbear- 
ing or  the  most  adroit  selfishness,  gains  the  victory; 
and  it  is  envied  and  applauded  in  spite,  as  Molière 
said,  of  outcries,  and  we  all  know  it. 

When,  in  his  capacity  as  enemy  to  the  new  dynasty, 
Raoul  was  introduced  in  the  salon  of  Madame  de 
Montcornet,  his  apparent  grandeurs  were  flourishing. 
He  was  accepted  as  the  political  critic  of  the  de  Mar- 
says,  the  Rastignacs,  and  the  Roche-Hugons,  who  had 
stepped  into  power.  Emile  Blondet,  the  victim  of  in- 
curable hesitation   and   of   his  innate  repugnance  to 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  49 

any  action  that  concerned  only  himself,  continued  his 
trade  of  scoffer,  took  sides  with  no  one,  and  kept  well 
with  all.  He  was  friendly  with  Raoul,  friendly  with 
Rastignac,  friendly  with  Montcornet. 

"You  are  a  political  triangle,"  said  de  Marsay, 
laughing,  when  they  met  at  the  Opera.  "That 
geometric  form,  my  dear  fellow,  belongs  only  to  the 
Deity,  who  has  nothing  to  do;  ambitious  men  ought 
to  follow  curved  lines,  the  shortest  road  in  politics." 

Seen  from  a  distance,  Raoul  Nathan  was  a  very  fine 
meteor.  Fashion  accepted  his  ways  and  his  appear- 
ance. His  borrowed  republicanism  gave  him,  for  the 
time  being,  that  Jansenist  harshness  assumed  by  the 
defenders  of  the  popular  cause,  while  they  inwardly 
scoff  at  it,  —  a  quality  not  without  charm  in  the  eyes 
of  women.  Women  like  to  perform  prodigies,  break 
rocks,  and  soften  natures  which  seem  of  iron. 

Raoul' s  moral  costume  was  therefore  in  keeping 
with  his  clothes.  He  was  fitted  to  be  what  he  became 
to  the  Eve  who  was  bored  in  her  paradise  in  the  rue 
du  Rocher,  — .  the  fascinating  serpent,  the  fine  talker 
with  magnetic  eyes  and  harmonious  motions  who 
tempted  the  first  woman.  No  sooner  had  the  Comtesse 
Marie  laid  eyes  on  Raoul  than  she  felt  an  inward 
emotion,  the  violence  of  which  caused  her  a  species  of 
terror.  The  glance  of  that  fraudulent  great  man  exer- 
cised a  physical  influence  upon  her,  which  quivered  in 
her  very  heart,  and  troubled  it.  But  the  trouble  was 
pleasure.  The  purple  mantle  which  celebrity  had 
draped  for  a  moment  round  Nathan's  shoulders  dazzled 
the  ingenuous  young  woman.  When  tea  was  served, 
she  rose  from  her  seat  among  a  knot  of  talking  women, 

4 


50  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

where  she  had  been  striving  to  see  and  hear  that 
extraordinary  being.  Her  silence  and  absorption 
were  noticed  by  her  false  friends. 

The  countess  approached  the  divan  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  where  Raoul  was  perorating.  She  stood 
there  with  her  arm  in  that  of  Madame  Octave  de  Camp, 
an  excellent  woman,  who  kept  the  secret  of  the  invol- 
untary trembling  by  which  these  violent  emotions  be- 
trayed themselves.  Though  the  eyes  of  a  captivated 
woman  are  apt  to  shed  wonderful  sweetness,  Raoul  was 
too  occupied  at  that  moment  in  letting  off  fireworks,  too 
absorbed  in  his  epigrams  going  up  like  rockets  (in  the 
midst  of  which  were  flaming  portraits  drawn  in  lines 
of  fire)  to  notice  the  naïve  admiration  of  one  little  Eve 
concealed  in  a  group  of  women.  Marie's  curiosity 
—  like  that  which  would  undoubtedly  precipitate  all 
Paris  into  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  to  see  a  unicorn,  if 
such  an  animal  could  be  found  in  those  mountains 
of  the  moon,  still  virgin  of  the  tread  of  Europeans  — 
intoxicates  a  secondary  mind  as  much  as  it  saddens 
great  ones  ;  but  Raoul  was  enchanted  by  it  ;  although 
he  was  then  too  anxious  to  secure  all  women  to  care 
very  much  for  one  alone. 

"Take  care,  my  dear,"  said  Marie's  kind  and  gra- 
cious companion  in  her  ear,  "and  go  home." 

The  countess  looked  at  her  husband  to  ask  for  his 
arm  with  one  of  those  glances  which  husbands  do  not 
always  understand.     Félix  did  so,  and  took  her  home. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Madame  d'Espard  in  Raoul's 
ear,  "you  are  a  lucky  fellow.  You  have  made  more 
than  one  conquest  to-night,  and  among  them  that  of 
the  charming  woman  who  has  just  left  us  so  abruptly." 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  51 

"Do  you  know  what  the  Marquise  d'Espard  meant 
by  that?"  said  Raoul  to  Rastignac,  when  they  hap- 
pened to  be  comparatively  alone  between  one  and  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"lam  told  that  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  has 
taken  a  violent  fancy  to  you.  You  are  not  to  be 
pitied  !  "    said  Rastignac. 

"I  did  not  see  her,"  said  Raoul. 

"Oh!  but  you  will  see  her,  you  scamp!  "  cried  Emile 
Blondet,  who  was  standing  by.  "Lady  Dudley  is 
going  to  ask  you  to  her  grand  ball,  that  you  may  meet 
the  pretty  countess." 

Raoul  and  Blondet  went  off  with  Rastignac,  who 
offered  them  his  carriage.  All  three  laughed  at  the 
combination  of  an  eclectic  under-secretary  of  State,  a 
ferocious  republican,  and  a  political  atheist. 

"Suppose  we  sup  at  the  expense  of  the  present  order 
of  things  ?  "  said  Blondet,  who  would  fain  recall  sup- 
pers to  fashion. 

Rastignac  took  them  to  Very's,  sent  away  his  car- 
riage, and  all  three  sat  down  to  table  to  analyze  soci- 
ety with  Rabelaisian  laughs.  During  the  supper, 
Rastignac  and  Blondet  advised  their  provisional  enemy 
not  to  neglect  such  a  capital  chance  of  advancement  as 
the  one  now  offered  to  him.  The  two  roués  gave  him, 
in  fine  satirical  style,  the  history  of  Madame  Félix  de 
Vandenesse  ;  they  drove  the  scalpel  of  epigram  and  the 
sharp  points  of  much  good  wit  into  that  innocent  girl- 
hood and  happy  marriage.  Blondet  congratulated 
Raoul  on  encountering  a  woman  guilty  of  nothing- 
worse  so  far  than  horrible  drawings  in  red  chalk, 
attenuated  water-colors,   slippers   embroidered   for  a 


52  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

husband,  sonatas  executed  with  the  best  intentions, — 
a  girl  tied  to  her  mother's  apron-strings  till  she  was 
eighteen,  trussed  for  religious  practices,  seasoned  by 
Vandenesse,  and  cooked  to  a  point  by  marriage.  At 
the  third  bottle  of  champagne,  Raoul  unbosomed  him- 
self as  he  had  never  done  before  in  his  life. 

44 My  friends,"  he  said,  "you  know  my  relations 
with  Florine  ;  you  also  know  my  life,  and  you  will  not 
be  surprised  to  hear  me  say  that  I  am  absolutely  igno- 
rant of  what  a  countess's  love  may  be  like.  I  have 
often  felt  mortified  that  I,  a  poet,  could  not  give  my- 
self a  Beatrice,  a  Laura,  except  in  poetry.  A  pure 
and  noble  woman  is  like  an  unstained  conscience,  — 
she  represents  us  to  ourselves  under  a  noble  form. 
Elsewhere  we  may  soil  ourselves,  but  with  her  we  are 
always  proud,  lofty,  and  immaculate.  Elsewhere  we 
lead  ill-regulated  lives  ;  with  her  we  breathe  the  calm, 
the  freshness,  the  verdure  of  an  oasis  —  " 

"Go  on,  go  on,  my  dear  fellow!"  cried  Rastignac; 
"twang  that  fourth  string  with  the  prayer  in  4  Moses  ' 
like  Paganini."  , 

Raoul  remained  silent,  with  fixed  eyes,  apparently 
musing. 

"Thi3  wretched  ministerial  apprentice  does  not 
understand  me,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

So,  while  the  poor  Eve  in  the  rue  du  Rocher  went  to 
bed  in  the  sheets  of  shame,  frightened  at  the  pleasure 
with  which  she  had  listened  to  that  sham  great  poet, 
these  three  bold  minds  were  trampling  with  jests  over 
the  tender  flowers  of  her  dawning  love.  Ah!  if 
women  only  knew  the  cynical  tone  that  such  men,  so 
humble,  so  fawning  in   their  presence,  take   behind 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  53 

their  backs!  how  they  sneer  at  what  they  say  they 
adore!  Fresh,  pure,  gracious  being,  how  the  scoffing 
jester  disrobes  and  analyzes  her!  but,  even  so,  the 
more  she  loses  veils,  the  more  her  beauty  shines. 

Marie  was  at  this  moment  comparing  Raoul  and 
Félix,  without  imagining  the  danger  there  might  be 
for  her  in  such  comparisons.  Nothing  could  present  a 
greater  contrast  than  the  disorderly,  vigorous  Raoul 
to  Félix  de  Vandenesse,  who  cared  for  his  person 
like  a  dainty  woman,  wore  well-fitting  clothes,  had  a 
charming  desiîivoltura,  and  was  a  votary  of  English 
nicety,  to  which,  in  earlier  days,  Lady  Dudley  had 
trained  him.  Marie,  as  a  good  and  pious  woman, 
soon  forbade  herself  even  to  think  of  Raoul,  and 
considered  that  she  was  a  monster  of  ingratitude  for 
making  the  comparison. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Raoul  Nathan  ?  "  she  asked 
her  husband  the  next  day  at  breakfast. 

"He  is  something  of  a  charlatan,"  replied  Félix; 
"one  of  those  volcanoes  who  are  easily  calmed  clown 
with  a  little  gold-dust.  Madame  de  Montcornet  makes 
a  mistake  in  admitting  him." 

This  answer  annoyed  Marie,  all  the  more  because 
Félix  supported  his  opinion  with  certain  facts,  relat- 
ing what  he  knew  of  Raoul  Nathan's  life,  —a  precari- 
ous existence  mixed  up  with  a  popular  actress. 

"If  the  man  has  genius,"  he  said  in  conclusion, 
"he  certainly  has  neither  the  constancy  nor  the 
patience  which  sanctifies  it,  and  makes  it  a  thing 
divine.  He  endeavors  to  impose  on  the  world  by 
placing  himself  on  a  level  which  he  does  nothing  to 
maintain.     True  talent,   pains-taking    and    honorable 


54  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

talent  does  not  act  thus.  Men  who  possess  such  talent 
follow  their  path  courageously  ;  they  accept  its  pains 
and  penalties,  and  don't  cover  them  with  tinsel." 

A  woman's  thought  is  endowed  with  incredible 
elasticity.  When  she  receives  a  knockdown  blow,  she 
bends,  seems  crushed,  and  then  renews  her  natural 
shape  in  a  given  time. 

"Félix  is  no  doubt  right,"  thought  she. 

But  three  days  later  she  was  once  more  thinking  of 
the  serpent,  recalled  to  him  by  that  singular  emotion, 
painful  and  yet  sweet,  which  the  first  sight  of  Raoul 
had  given  her.  The  count  and  countess  went  to  Lady 
Dudley's  grand  ball,  where,  by  the  bye,  de  Marsay 
appeared  in  society  for  the  last  time.  He  died  about 
two  months  later,  leaving  the  reputation  of  a  great 
statesman,  because,  as  Blondet  remarked,  he  was 
incomprehensible. 

Vandenesse  and  his  wife  again  met  Raoul  Nathan 
at  this  ball,  which  was  remarkable  for  the  meeting  of 
several  personages  of  the  political  drama,  who  were 
not  a  little  astonished  to  find  themselves  together.  It 
was  one  of  the  first  solemnities  of  the  great  world. 
The  salons  presented  a  magnificent  spectacle  to  the 
eye,  —  flowers,  diamonds,  and  brilliant  head-dresses; 
all  jewel-boxes  emptied  ;  all  resources  of  the  toilet  put 
under  contribution.  The  ball-room  might  be  com- 
pared to  one  of  those  choice  conservatories  where  rich 
horticulturists  collect  the  most  superb  rarities,  — 
same  brilliancy,  same  delicacy  of  texture.  On  all 
sides  white  or  tinted  gauzes  like  the  wings  of  the 
airiest  dragon-fly,  crêpes,  laces,  blondes,  and  tulles, 
varied  as  the  fantasies  of  entomological  nature;  den- 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  55 

telled,  waved,  and  scalloped;  spider's  webs  of  gold 
and  silver;  mists  of  silk  embroidered  by  fairy  fingers; 
plumes  colored  by  the  fire  of  the  tropics  drooping  from 
haughty  heads;  pearls  twined  in  braided  hair;  shot 
or  ribbed  or  brocaded  silks,  as  though  the  genius  of 
arabesque  had  presided  over  French  manufactures,  — 
all  this  luxury  was  in  harmony  with  the  beauties  col- 
lected there  as  if  to  realize  a  "Keepsake."  The  eye 
received  an  impression  of  the  whitest  shoulders,  some 
amber-tinted,  others  so  polished  as  to  seem  colandered, 
some  dewy,  some  plump  and  satiny,  as  though  Rubens 
had  prepared  their  flesh;  in  short,  all  shades  known 
to  man  in  white.  Here  were  eyes  sparkling  like  onyx 
or  turquoise  fringed  with  dark  lashes  ;  faces  of  varied 
outline  presenting  the  most  graceful  types  of  many 
lands  ;  foreheads  noble  and  majestic,  or  softly  rounded, 
as  if  thought  ruled,  or  flat,  as  if  resistant  will  reigned 
there  unconquered;  beautiful  bosoms  swelling,  as 
George  IV.  admired  them,  or  widely  parted  after  the 
fashion  of  the  eighteenth  century,  or  pressed  together, 
as  Louis  XV.  required;  some  shown  boldly,  without 
veils,  others  covered  by  those  charming  pleated  chemi- 
settes which  Raffaelle  painted.  The  prettiest  feet 
pointed  for  the  dance,  the  slimmest  waists  encircled  in 
the  waltz,  stimulated  the  gaze  of  the  most  indifferent 
person  present.  The  murmur  of  sweet  voices,  the 
rustle  of  gowns,  the  cadence  of  the  dance,  the  whir 
of  the  waltz  harmoniously  accompanied  the  music.  A 
fairy's  wand  seemed  to  have  commanded  this  dazzling 
revelry,  this  melody  of  perfumes,  these  iridescent 
lights  glittering  from  crystal  chandeliers  or  sparkling 
in    candelabra.       This    assemblage    of    the    prettiest 


56  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

women  in  their  prettiest  dresses  stood  out  upon  a 
gloomy  background  of  men  in  black  coats,  among 
whom  the  eye  remarked  the  elegant,  delicate,  and  cor- 
rectly drawn  profile  of  nobles,  the  ruddy  beards  and 
grave  faces  of  Englishmen,  and  the  more  gracious 
faces  of  the  French  aristocracy.  All  the  orders  of 
Europe  glittered  on  the  breasts  or  hung  from  the 
necks  of  these  men. 

Examining  this  society  carefully,  it  was  seen  to 
present  not  only  the  brilliant  tones  and  colors  of  out- 
ward adornment,  but  to  have  a  soul,  —  it  lived,  it  felt, 
it  thought.  Hidden  passion  gave  it  a  physiognomy; 
mischievous  or  malignant  looks  were  exchanged  ;  fair 
and  giddy  girls  betrayed  desires;  jealous  women  told 
each  other  scandals  behind  their  fans,  or  paid  exag- 
gerated compliments.  Society,  anointed,  curled,  and 
perfumed,  gave  itself  up  to  social  gayety  which  went 
to  the  brain  like  a  heady  liquor.  It  seemed  as  if 
from  all  foreheads,  as  well  as  from  all  hearts,  ideas 
and  sentiments  were  exhaling,  which  presently  con- 
densed and  reacted  in  a  volume  on  the  coldest  persons 
present,  and  excited  them.  At  the  most  animated 
moment  of  this  intoxicating  party,  in  a  corner  of  a 
gilded  salon  where  certain  bankers,  ambassadors,  and 
the  immoral  old  English  earl,  Lord  Dudley,  were 
playing  cards,  Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse  was  irre- 
sistibly drawn  to  converse  with  Raoul  Nathan.  Pos- 
sibly she  yielded  to  that  ball-intoxication  which 
sometimes  wrings  avowals  from  the  most  discreet. 

At  sight  of  such  a  fête,  and  the  splendors  of  a  world 
in  which  he  had  never  before  appeared,  Nathan  was 
stirred  to  the  soul  by  fresh  ambition.     Seeing  Rasti- 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  57 

gnac,  whose  younger  brother  had  just  been  made  bishop 
at  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  and  whose  brother-in- 
law,  Martial  de  la  Roche-Hugon,  was  a  minister,  and 
who  himself  was  under-secretary  of  State,  and  about 
to  marry,  rumor  said,  the  only  daughter  of  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen,  —  a  girl  with  an  illimitable  dot  ;  seeing, 
moreover,  in  the  diplomatic  body  an  obscure  writer 
whom  he  had  formerly  known  translating  articles  in 
foreign  journals  for  a  newspaper  turned  dynastic  since 
1830,  also  professors  now  made  peers  of  France,  — he 
felt  with  anguish  that  he  was  left  behind  on  a  bad  road 
by  advocating  the  overthrow  of  this  new  aristocracy 
of  lucky  talent,  of  cleverness  crowned  by  success,  and 
of  real  merit.  Even  Blondet,  so  unfortunate,  so  used 
by  others  in  journalism,  but  so  welcomed  here,  who 
could,  if  he  liked,  enter  a  career  of  public  service 
through  the  influence  of  Madame  de  Montcornet, 
seemed  to  Nathan's  eyes  a  striking  example  of  the 
power  of  social  relations.  Secretly,  in  his  heart,  he 
resolved  to  play  the  game  of  political  opinions,  like  de 
Marsay,  Rastignac,  Blondet,  Talleyrand,  the  leader 
of  this  set  of  men  ;  to  rely  on  facts  only,  turn  them  to 
his  own  profit,  regard  his  system  as  a  weapon,  and 
not  interfere  with  a  society  so  well  constituted,  so 
shrewd,   so  natural. 

"My  future,"  he  thought,  "will  depend  on  the  influ- 
ence of  some  woman  belonging  to  this  class  of 
society." 

With  this  thought  in  his  mind,  conceived  by  the 
flame  of  a  frenzied  desire,  he  fell  upon  the  Comtesse 
de  Vandenesse  like  a  hawk  on  its  prey.  That  charming 
young  woman  in  her  head-dress  of  marabouts,  which 


58  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

produced  the  delightful  flou  of  the  paintings  of  Law- 
rence and  harmonized  well  with  her  gentle  nature, 
was  penetrated  through  and  through  by  the  foaming 
vigor  of  this  poet  wild  with  ambition.  Lady  Dudley, 
whom  nothing  escaped,  aided  this  tête-à-tête  by  throw- 
ing the  Comte  de  Vandenesse  with  Madame  de  Maner- 
ville.  Strong  in  her  former  ascendency  over  him, 
Natalie  de  Manerville  amused  herself  by  leading  Félix 
into  the  mazes  of  a  quarrel  of  witty  teasing,  blushing 
half-confidences,  regrets  coyly  flung  like  flowers  at  his 
feet,  recriminations  in  which  she  excused  herself  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  being  put  in  the  wrong. 

These  former  lovers  were  speaking  to  each  other  for 
the  first  time  since  their  rupture  ;  and  while  her  hus- 
band's former  love  was  stirring  the  embers  to  see  if 
a  spark  were  yet  alive,  Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse 
was  undergoing  those  violent  palpitations  which  a 
woman  feels  at  the  certainty  of  doing  wrong,  and 
stepping  on  forbidden  ground,  —  emotions  that  are  not 
without  charm,  and  which  awaken  various  dormant 
faculties.  Women  are  fond  of  using  Bluebeard's 
bloody  key,  that  fine  mythological  idea  for  which  we 
are  indebted  to  Perrault. 

The  dramatist  —  who  knew  his  Shakespeare  —  dis- 
played his  wretchedness,  related  his  struggle  with  men 
and  things,  made  his  hearer  aware  of  his  baseless 
grandeur,  his  unrecognized  political  genius,  his  life 
without  noble  affections.  Without  saying  a  single 
definite  word,  he  contrived  to  suggest  to  this  charming 
woman  that  she  should  play  the  noble  part  of  Rebecca 
in  Ivanhoe,  and  love  and  protect  him.  It  was  all,  of 
course,  in  the  ethereal  regions  of  sentiment.     Forget- 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  59 

me-nots  are  not  more  blue,  lilies  not  more  white  than 
the  images,  thoughts,  and  radiantly  illumined  brow 
of  this  accomplished  artist,  who  was  likely  to  send  his 
conversation  to  a  publisher.  He  played  his  part  of 
reptile  to  this  poor  Eve  so  cleverly,  he  made  the 
fatal  bloom  of  the  apple  so  dazzling  to  her  eyes,  that 
Marie  left  the  ball-room  filled  with  that  species  of 
remorse  which  resembles  hope,  flattered  in  all  her 
vanities,  stirred  to  every  corner  of  her  heart,  caught 
by  her  own  virtues,  allured  by  her  native  pity  for 
misfortune. 

Perhaps  Madame  de  Manerville  had  taken  Van- 
denesse  into  the  salon  where  his  wife  was  talking 
with  Nathan;  perhaps  he  had  come  there  himself  to 
fetch  Marie,  and  take  her  home  ;  perhaps  his  conver- 
sation with  his  former  flame  had  awakened  slumbering 
griefs  ;  certain  it  is  that  when  his  wife  took  his  arm 
to  leave  the  ball-room,  she  saw  that  his  face  was  sad 
and  his  look  serious.  The  countess  wondered  if  he 
was  displeased  with  her.  No  sooner  were  they  seated 
in  the  carriage  than  she  turned  to  Félix  and  said,  with 
a  mischievous  smile,  — 

"Did  not  I  see  you  talking  half  the  evening  with 
Madame  de  Manerville  ?  " 

Félix  was  not  out  of  the  tangled  paths  into  which 
his  wife  had  led  him  by  this  charming  little  quarrel, 
when  the  carriage  turned  into  their  court-yard.  This 
was  Marie's  first  artifice  dictated  by  her  new  emotion; 
and  she  even  took  pleasure  in  triumphing  over  a  man 
who,  until  then,  had  seemed  to  her  so  superior. 


60  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 


V. 


FLORINE. 


Between  the  rue  Basse-du-Rempart  and  the  rue 
Neuve-des-Mathurins,  Raoul  had,  on  the  third  floor 
of  an  ugly  and  narrow  house,  in  the  Passage  Sandrié, 
a  poor  enough  lodging,  cold  and  bare,  where  he  lived 
ostensibly  for  the  general  public,  for  literary  neo- 
phytes, and  for  his  creditors,  duns,  and  other  annoy- 
ing persons  whom  he  kept  on  the  threshold  of  private 
life.  His  real  home,  his  fine  existence,  his  presenta- 
tion of  himself  before  his  friends,  was  in  the  house  of 
Mademoiselle  Florine,  a  second-class  comedy  actress,- 
where,  for  ten  years,  the  said  friends,  journalists,  cer- 
tain authors,  and  writers  in  general  disported  them- 
selves in  the  society  of  equally  illustrious  actresses. 
For  ten  years  Raoul  had  attached  himself  so  closely  to 
this  woman  that  he  passed  more  than  half  of  his  life 
with  her;  he  took  all  his  meals  at  her  house  unless 
he  had  some  friend  to  invite,  or  an  invitation  to  din- 
ner elsewhere. 

To  consummate  corruption,  Florine  added  a  lively 
wit,  which  intercourse  with  artists  had  developed  and 
practice  sharpened  day  by  day.  Wit  is  thought  to  be 
a  quality  rare  in  comedians.  It  is  so  natural  to  sup- 
pose that  persons  who  spend  their  lives  in  showing 
things  on  the  outside  have  nothing  within.     But  if  we 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  61 

reflect  on  the  small  number  of  actors  and  actresses  who 
live  in  each  century,  and  also  on  how  many  dramatic 
authors  and  fascinating  women  this  population  has 
supplied  relatively  to  its  numbers,  it  is  allowable  to 
refute  that  opinion,  which  rests,  and  apparently  will 
rest  forever,  on  a  criticism  made  against  dramatic 
artists,  —  namely,  that  their  personal  sentiments  are 
destroyed  by  the  plastic  presentation  of  passions; 
whereas,  in  fact,  they  put  into  their  art  only  their 
gifts  of  mind,  memory,  and  imagination.  Great 
artists  are  beings  who,  to  quote  Napoleon,  can  cut  off 
at  will  the  connection  which  Nature  has  put  between 
the  senses  and  thought.  Molière  and  Talma,  in  their 
old  age,  were  more  in  love  than  ordinary  men  in  all 
their  lives. 

Accustomed  to  listen  to  journalists,  who  guess  at 
most  things,  putting  two  and  two  together,  to  writers, 
who  foresee  and  tell  all  that  they  see;  accustomed 
also  to  the  ways  of  certain  political  personages,  who 
watched  one  another  in  her  house,  and  profited  by  all 
admissions,  Florine  presented  in  her  own  person  a 
mixture  of  devil  and  angel,  which  made  her  peculiarly 
fitted  to  receive  these  roués.  They  delighted  in  her 
cool  self-possession  ;  her  anomalies  of  mind  and  heart 
entertained  them  prodigiously.  Her  house,  enriched 
by  gallant  tributes,  displayed  the  exaggerated  magni- 
ficence of  women  who,  caring  little  about  the  cost  of 
things,  care  only  for  the  things  themselves,  and  give 
them  the  value  of  their  own  caprices, —  women  who 
will  break  a  fan  or  a  smelling-bottle  fit  for  queens 
in  a  moment  of  passion,  and  scream  with  rage  if  a 
servant  breaks  a  ten-franc  saucer  from  which  their 
poodle  drinks. 


62  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

Florine's  dining-room,  filled  with  her  most  distin- 
guished offerings,  will  give  a  fair  idea  of  this  pell-mell 
of  regal  and  fantastic  luxury.  Throughout,  even  on 
the  ceilings,  it  was  panelled  in  oak,  picked  out,  here 
and  there,  by  dead-gold  lines.  These  panels  were 
framed  in  relief  with  figures  of  children  playing  with 
fantastic  animals,  among  which  the  light  danced  and 
floated,  touching  here  a  sketch  by  Bixiou,  that  maker 
of  caricatures,  there  the  cast  of  an  angel  holding  a 
vessel  of  holy  water  (presented  by  François  Souchet), 
farther  on  a  coquettish  painting  of  Joseph  Bridau,  a 
gloomy  picture  of  a  Spanish  alchemist  by  Hippolyte 
Schinner,  an  autograph  of  Lord  Byron  to  Lady  Caro- 
line Lamb,  framed  in  carved  ebony,  while,  hanging 
opposite  as  a  species  of  pendant,  was  a  letter  from 
Napoleon  to  Josephine.  All  these  things  were  placed 
about  without  the  slightest  symmetry,  but  with  almost 
imperceptible  art.  On  the  chimney-piece,  of  exqui- 
sitely carved  oak,  there  was  nothing  except  a  strange, 
evidently  Florentine,  ivory  statuette  attributed  to 
Michael  Angelo,  representing  Pan  discovering  a 
woman  under  the  skin  of  a  young  shepherd,  the  orig- 
inal of  which  is  in  the  royal  palace  of  Vienna.  On 
either  side  were  candelabra  of  Renaissance  design. 
A  clock,  by  Boule,  on  a  tortoise-shell  stand,  inlaid  with 
brass,  sparkled  in  the  centre  of  one  panel  between  two 
statuettes,  undoubtedly  obtained  from  the  demolition 
of  some  abbey.  In  the  corners  of  the  room,  on  pedes- 
tals, were  lamps  of  royal  magnificence,  as  to  which  a 
manufacturer  had  made  strong  remonstrance  against 
adapting  his  lamps  to  Japanese  vases.  On  a  mar- 
vellous sideboard  was  displayed  a  service  of  silver 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  63 

plate,  the  gift  of  an  English  lord,  also  porcelains  in 
high  relief;  in  short,  the  luxury  of  an  actress  who 
has  no  other  property  than  her  furniture. 

The  bedroom,  all  in  violet,  was  a  dream  that  Florine 
had  indulged  from  her  début,  the  chief  features  of 
which  were  curtains  of  violet  velvet  lined  with  white 
silk,  and  looped  over  tulle;  a  ceiling  of  white  cash- 
mere with  violet  satin  rays,  an  ermine  carpet  beside 
the  bed;  in  the  bed,  the  curtains  of  which  resembled 
a  lily  turned  upside  down,  was  a  lantern  by  which  to 
read  the  newspaper  plaudits  or  criticisms  before  they 
appeared  in  the  morning.  A  yellow  salon,  its  effect 
heightened  by  trimmings  of  the  color  of  Florentine 
bronze,  was  in  harmony  with  the  rest  of  these  magni- 
ficences, a  further  description  of  which  would  make 
our  pages  resemble  the  posters  of  an  auction  sale.  To 
find  comparisons  for  all  these  fine  things,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  go  to  a  certain  house  that  was  almost  next 
door,  belonging  to  a  Rothschild. 

Sophie  Grignault,  surnamed  Florine  by  a  form  of 
baptism  quite  common  in  theatres,  had  made  her  first 
appearances,  in  spite  of  her  beauty,  on  very  inferior 
boards.  Her  success  and  her  money  she  owed  to  Raoul 
Nathan.  This  association  of  their  two  fates,  usual 
enough  in  the  dramatic  and  literary  world,  did  no 
harm  to  Raoul,  who  kept  up  the  outward  conventions 
of  a  man  of  the  world.  Moreover,  Florine's  actual 
means  were  precarious;  her  revenues  came  from  her 
salary  and  her  leaves  of  absence,  and  barely  sufficed 
for  her  dress  and  her  household  expenses.  Nathan 
gave  her  certain  perquisites  which  he  managed  to 
levy  as  critic  on  several  of  the  new  enterprises  of  in- 


64  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

dustrial  art.  But  although  he  was  always  gallant 
and  protecting  towards  her,  that  protection  had  noth- 
ing regular  or  solid  about  it. 

This  uncertainty,  and  this  life  on  a  bough,  as  it 
were,  did  not  alarm  Florine;  she  believed  in  her 
talent,  and  she  believed  in  her  beauty.  Her  robust 
faith  was  somewhat  comical  to  those  who  heard  her 
staking  her  future  upon  it,  when  remonstrances  were 
made  to  her. 

"I  can  have  income  enough  when  I  please,"  she  was 
wont  to  say;  UI  have  invested  fifty  francs  on  the 
Grand-livre.  " 

No  one  could  ever  understand  how  it  happened  that 
Florine,  handsome  as  she  was,  had  remained  in 
obscurity  for  seven  years  ;  but  the  fact  is,  Florine  was 
enrolled  as  a  supernumerary  at  thirteen  years  of  age, 
and  made  her  début  two  years  later  at  an  obscure  boule- 
vard theatre.  At  fifteen,  neither  beauty  nor  talent 
exist;  a  woman  is  simply  all  promise. 

She  was  now  twenty-eight,  —  the  age  at  which  the 
beauties  of  a  French  woman  are  in  their  glory.  Pain- 
ters particularly  admired  the  lustre  of  her  white  shoul- 
ders, tinted  with  olive  tones  about  the  nape  of  the 
neck,  and  wonderfully  firm  and  polished,  so  that  the 
light  shimmered  over  them  as  it  does  on  watered  silk. 
When  she  turned  her  head,  superb  folds  formed  about 
her  neck,  the  admiration  of  sculptors.  She  carried  on 
this  triumphant  neck  the  small  head  of  a  Roman 
empress,  the  delicate,  round,  and  self-willed  head  of 
Pompeia,  with  features  of  elegant  correctness,  and  the 
smooth  forehead  of  a  woman  who  drives  all  care  away 
and  all  reflection,  who  yields  easily,  but  is  capable  of 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  65 

balking  like  a  mule,  and  incapable  at  such  times  of 
listening  to  reason.  That  forehead,  turned,  as  it  were, 
with  one  cut  of  the  chisel,  brought  out  the  beauty  of 
the  golden  hair,  which  was  raised  in  front,  after  the 
Roman  fashion,  in  two  equal  masses,  and  twisted  up 
behind  the  head  to  prolong  the  line  of  the  neck,  and 
enhance  that  whiteness  by  its  beautiful  color.  Black 
and  delicate  eyebrows,  drawn  by  a  Chinese  brush, 
encircled  the  soft  eyelids,  which  were  threaded  with 
rosy  fibres.  The  pupils  of  the  eyes,  extremely  bright, 
though  striped  with  brown  rays,  gave  to  her  glance 
the  cruel  fixity  of  a  beast  of  prey,  and  betrayed  the 
cold  maliciousness  of  the  courtesan.  The  eyes  were 
gray,  fringed  with  black  lashes,  —  a  charming  con- 
trast,- which  made  their  expression  of  calm  and  con- 
templative voluptuousness  the  more  observable;  the 
circle  round  the  eyes  showed  marks  of  fatigue,  but 
the  artistic  mariner  in  which  she  could  turn  her  eye- 
balls, right  and  left,  or  up  and  down,  to  observe,  or 
seem  to  meditate,  the  way  in  which  she  could  hold 
them  fixed,  casting  out  their  vivid  fire  without  moving 
her  head,  without  taking  from  her  face  its  absolute 
immovability  (a  manœuvre  learned  upon  the  stage), 
and  the  vivacity  of  their  glance,  as  she  looked  about  a 
theatre  in  search  of  a  friend,  made  her  eyes  the  most 
terrible,  also  the  softest,  in  short,  the  most  extraor- 
dinary eyes  in  the  world.  Rouge  had  destroyed  by 
this  time  the  diaphanous  tints  of  her  cheeks,  the  flesh 
of  which  was  still  delicate;  but  though  she  could  no 
longer  blush  or  turn  pale,  she  had  a  thin  nose  with 
rosy,  passionate  nostrils,  made  to  express  irony,  — 
the  mocking  irony  of  Molière's  women-servants.    Her 

5 


66  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

sensual  mouth,  expressive  of  sarcasm  and  love  of 
dissipation,  was  adorned  with  a  deep  furrow  that 
united  the  upper  lip  with  the  nose.  Her  chin,  white 
and  rather  fat,  betrayed  the  violence  of  passion.  Her 
hands  and  arms  were  worthy  of  a  sovereign. 

But  she  had  One  ineradicable  sign  of  low  birth,  — 
her  foot  was  short  and  fat.  No  inherited  quality  ever 
caused  greater  distress.  Florine  had  tried  everything, 
short  of  amputation,  to  get  rid  of  it.  The  feet  were 
obstinate,  like  the  Breton  race  from  which  she  came; 
they  resisted  all  treatment.  Florine  now  wore  long 
boots  stuffed  with  cotton,  to  give  length,  and  the  sem- 
blance of  an  instep.  Her  figure  was  of  medium  height, 
threatened  with  corpulence,  but  still  well-balanced,  and 
well-made. 

Morally,  she  was  an  adept  in  all  the  attitudinizing, 
quarrelling,  alluring,  and  cajoling  of  her  business; 
and  she  gave  to  those  actions  a  savor  of  their  own 
by  playing  childlike  innocence,  and  slipping  in  among 
her  artless  speeches  philosophical  malignities.  Appar- 
ently ignorant  and  giddy,  she  was  very  strong  on 
money-matters  and  commercial  law,  —  for  the  reason 
that  she  had  gone  through  so  much  misery  before 
attaining  to  her  present  precarious  success.  She  had 
come  down,  story  by  story,  from  the  garret  to  the 
first  floor,  through  so  many  vicissitudes!  She  knew 
life,  from  that  which  begins  on  Brie  cheese  and  ends 
at  pineapples  ;  from  that  which  cooks  and  washes  in 
the  corner  of  a  garret  on  an  earthenware  stove,  to  that 
which  convokes  the  tribes  of  pot-bellied  chefs  and 
saucemakers.  She  had  lived  on  credit  and  not  killed 
it;   she  was  ignorant  of   nothing  that  honest  women 


A  Daughter  of  Me.  67 

ignore  ;  she  spoke  all  languages  :  she  was  one  of  the 
populace  by  experience;  she  was  noble  by  beauty  and 
physical  distinction.  Suspicious  as  a  spy,  or  a  judge, 
or  an  old  statesman,  she  was  difficult  to  impose  upon, 
and  therefore  the  more  able  to  see  clearly  into  most 
matters.  She  knew  the  ways  of  managing  trades- 
people, and  how  to  evade  their  snares,  and  she  was 
quite  as  well  versed  in  the  prices  of  things  as  a  public 
appraiser.  To  see  her  lying  on  her  sofa,  like  a  young 
bride,  fresh  and  white,  holding  her  part  in  her  hand 
and  learning  it,  you  would  have  thought  her  a  child 
of  sixteen,  ingenuous,  ignorant,  and  weak,  with  no 
other  artifice  about  her  but  her  innocence.  Let  a 
creditor  contrive  to  enter,  and  she  was  up  like  a 
startled  fawn,  and  swearing  a  good  round  oath. 

"Hey!  my  good  fellow;  your  insolence  is  too  dear 
an  interest  on  the  money  I  owe  you,"  she  would  say. 
"I  am  sick  of  seeing  you.  Send  the  sheriff  here;  I'd 
prefer  him  to  your  silly  face." 

Florine  gave  charming  dinners,  concerts,  and  well- 
attended  soirées,  where  play  ran  high.  Her  female 
friends  were  all  handsome;  no  old  woman  had  ever 
appeared  within  her  precincts.  She  was  not  jealous  ; 
in  fact,  she  would  have  thought  jealousy  an  admission 
of  inferiority.  She  had  known  Coralie  and  La  Tor- 
pille in  their  lifetimes,  and  now  knew  Tullia,  Euphra- 
sie,  Aquilina,  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  Mariette,  — 
those  women  who  pass  through  Paris  like  gossamer 
through  the  atmosphere,  without  our  knowing  where 
they  go  nor  whence  they  came;  to-day  queens,  to- 
morrow slaves.  She  also  knew  the  actresses,  her 
rivals,  and  all  the  prima-donnas  ;  in  short,  that  whole 


68  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

exceptional  feminine  society,  so  kindly,  so  graceful 
in  its  easy  sans-souci,  which  absorbs  into  its  own 
Bohemian  life  all  who  allow  themselves  to  be  caught  in 
the  frantic  whirl  of  its  gay  spirits,  its  eager  abandon- 
ment, and  its  contemptuous  indifference  to  the  future. 
Though  this  Bohemian  life  displayed  itself  in  her 
house  in  tumultuous  disorder,  amid  the  laughter  of 
artists  of  every  description,  the  queen  of  the  revels 
had  ten  fingers  on  which  she  knew  better  how  to 
count  than  any  of  her  guests.  In  that  house  secret 
saturnalias  of  literature  and  art,  politics  and  finance 
were  carried  on;  there,  desire  reigned  a  sovereign; 
there,  caprice  and  fancy  were  as  sacred  as  honor  and 
virtue  to  a  bourgeoise  ;  thither  came  Blondet,  Finot, 
Etienne  Lousteau,  Vernou  the  feuilletonist,  Couture, 
Bixiou,  Rastignac  in  his  earlier  days,  Claude  Vignon 
the  critic,  Nucingen  the  banker,  du  Tillet,  Conti  the 
composer,  —  in  short,  that  whole  devil-may-care  legion 
of  selfish  materialists  of  all  kinds;  friends  of  Florine 
and  of  the  singers,  actresses  and  danseuses  collected 
about  her.  They  all  hated  or  liked  one  another 
according  to  circumstances. 

This  Bohemain  resort,  to  which  celebrity  was  the 
only  ticket  of  admission,  was  a  Hades  of  the  mind, 
the  galleys  of  the  intellect.  No  one  could  enter  there 
without  having  legally  conquered  fortune,  done  ten 
years  of  misery,  strangled  two  or  three  passions, 
acquired  some  celebrity,  either  by  books  or  waist- 
coats, by  dramas  or  fine  equipages;  plots  were  hatched 
there,  means  of  making  fortune  scrutinized,  all  things 
were  discussed  and  weighed.  But  every  man,  on 
leaving  it,  resumed  the  livery  of  his  own   opinions; 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  69 

there  he  could,  without  compromising  himself,  criti- 
cise his  own  party,  admit  the  knowledge  and  good 
play  of  his  adversaries,  formulate  thoughts  that  no 
one  admits  thinking,  —  in  short,  say  all,  as  if  ready 
to  do  all.  Paris  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  where 
such  eclectic  houses  exist;  where  all  tastes,  all  vices, 
all  opinions  are  received  under  decent  guise.  There- 
fore it  is  not  yet  certain  that  Florine  will  remain  to 
the  end  of  her  career  a  second-class  actress. 

Florine's  life  was  by  no  means  an  idle  one,  or  a  life 
to  be  envied.  Many  persons,  misled  by  the  magnifi- 
cent pedestal  that  the  stage  gives  to  a  woman,  sup- 
pose her  in  the  midst  of  a  perpetual  carnival.  In  the 
dark  recesses  of  a  porters  lodge,  beneath  the  tiles  of 
an  attic  roof,  many  a  poor  girl  dreams,  on  returning 
from  the  theatre,  of  pearls  and  diamonds,  gold- 
embroidered  gowns  and  sumptuous  girdles;  she  fan- 
cies herself  adored,  applauded,  courted  ;  but  little  she 
knows  of  that  treadmill  life,  in  which  the  actress 
is  forced  to  rehearsals  under  pain  of  fines,  to  the 
reading  of  new  pieces,  to  the  constant  study  of  new 
rôles.  At  each  representation  Florine  changes  her 
dress  at  least  two  or  three  times;  often  she  comes 
home  exhausted  and  half-dead;  but  before  she  can 
rest,  she  must  wash  off  with  various  cosmetics  the 
white  and  the  red  she  has  applied,  and  clean  all  the 
powder  from  her  hair,  if  she  has  played  a  part  from 
the  eighteenth  century.  She  scarcely  has  time  for 
food.  When  she  plays,  an  actress  can  live  no  life  of 
her  own;  she  can  neither  dress,  nor  eat,  nor  talk. 
Florine  often  has  no  time  to  sup.  On  returning  from 
a  play,  which  lasts,  in  these  days,  till  after  midnight, 


70  A  Laughter  of  Eve. 

she  does  not  get  to  bed  before  two  in  the  morning;  but 
she  must  rise  early  to  study  her  part,  order  her  dresses, 
try  them  on,  breakfast,  read  her  love-letters,  answer 
them,  discuss  with  the  leader  of  the  claque  the  place 
for  the  plaudits,  pay  for  the  triumphs  of  the  last  month 
in  solid  cash,  and  bespeak  those  of  the  month  ahead. 
In  the  days  of  Saint-Genest,  the  canonized  comedian 
who  fulfilled  his  duties  in  a  pious  manner  and  wore 
a  hair  shirt,  we  must  suppose  that  an  actor's  life  did 
not  demand  this  incessant  activity.  Sometimes  Flo- 
rine,  seized  with  a  bourgeois  desire  to  get  out  into  the 
country  and  gather  flowers,  pretends  to  the  manager 
that  she  is  ill. 

But  even  these  mechanical  occupations  are  nothing 
in  comparison  with  the  intrigues  to  be  carried  on,  the 
pains  of  wounded  vanity  to  be  endured,  —  preferences 
shown  by  authors,  parts  taken  away  or  given  to  others, 
exactions  of  the  male  actors,  spite  of  rivals,  naggings 
of  the  stage  manager,  struggles  with  journalists;  all 
of  which  require  another  twelve  hours  to  the  day.  Eut 
even  so  far,  nothing  has  been  said  of  the  art  of  acting, 
the  expression  of  passion,  the  practice  of  positions 
and  gesture,  the  minute  care  and  watchfulness  required 
on  the  stage,  where  a  thousand  opera-glasses  are  ready 
to  detect  a  flaw,  —  labors  which  consumed  the  life  and 
thought  of  Talma,  Lekain,  Baron,  Contât,  Clairon, 
Champmeslé.  In  these  infernal  coulisses  self-love  has 
no  sex;  the  artist  who  triumphs,  be  it  man  or  woman, 
has  all  the  other  men  and  women  against  him  or  her. 
Then,  as  to  money,  however  many  engagements  Flo- 
rine  may  have,  her  salary  does  not  cover  the  costs  of 
her  stage  toilet,  which,   in  addition  to  its  costumes, 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  71 

requires  an  immense  variety  of  long  gloves,  shoes, 
and  frippery;  and  all  this  exclusive  of  her  personal 
clothing.  The  first  third  of  such  a  life  is  spent  in 
struggling  and  imploring;  the  next  third,  in  getting  a 
foothold  ;  the  last  third,  in  defending  it.  If  happiness 
is  frantically  grasped,  it  is  because  it  is  so  rare,  so 
long  desired,  and  found  at  last  only  amid  the  odious 
fictitious  pleasures  and  smiles  of  such  a  life. 

As  for  Florine,  Raoul's  power  in  the  press  was  like 
a  protecting  sceptre;  he  spared  her  many  cares  and 
anxieties;  she  clung  to  him  less  as  a  lover  than  a 
prop  ;  she  took  care  of  him  like  a  father,  she  deceived 
him  like  a  husband  ;  but  she  would  readily  have  sacri- 
ficed all  she  had  to  him.  Raoul  could,  and  did  do 
everything  for  her  vanity  as  an  actress,  for  the  peace 
of  her  self-love,  and  for  her  future  on  the  stage. 
Without  the  intervention  of  a  successful  author,  there 
is  no  successful  actress;  Champmeslé  was  due  to 
Racine,  like  Mars  to  Monvel  and  Andrieux.  Florine 
could  do  nothing  in  return  for  Raoul,  though  she 
would  gladly  have  been  useful  and  necessary  to  him. 
She  reckoned  on  the  charms  of  habit  to  keep  him  by 
her;  she  was  always  ready  to  open  her  salons  and 
display  the  luxury  of  her  dinners  and  suppers  for  his 
friends,  and  to  further  his  projects.  She  desired  to 
be  for  him  what  Madame  de  Pompadour  was  to 
Louis  XV.  All  actresses  envied  Florine's  position, 
and  some  journalists  envied  that  of  Raoul. 

Those  to  whom  the  inclination  of  the  human  mind 
towards  change,  opposition,  and  contrasts  is  known, 
will  readily  understand  that  after  ten  years  of  this 
lawless  Bohemian  life,  full  of  ups  and  downs,  of  fêtes 


72  A  Daughter  of  Eve, 

and  sheriffs,  of  orgies  and  forced  sobrieties,  Raoul  was 
attracted  to  the  idea  of  another  love,  —  to  the  gentle, 
harmonious  house  and  presence  of  a  great  lady,  just 
as  the  Comtesse  Félix  instinctively  desired  to  intro- 
duce the  torture  of  great  emotions  into  a  life  made 
monotonous  by  happiness.  This  law  of  life  is  the 
law  of  all  arts,  which  exist  only  by  contrasts.  A 
work  done  without  this  incentive  is  the  loftiest  expres- 
sion of  genius,  just  as  the  cloister  is  the  highest 
expression  of  the  Christian  life. 

On  returning  to  his  lodging  from  Lady  Dudley's 
ball,  Raoul  found  a  note  from  Florine,  brought  by  her 
maid,  which  an  invincible  sleepiness  prevented  him 
from  reading  at  that  moment.  He  fell  asleep,  dream- 
ing of  a  gentle  love  that  his  life  had  so  far  lacked. 
Some  hours  later  he  opened  the  note,  and  found  in  it 
important  news,  which  neither  Rastignac  nor  de 
Marsay  had  allowed  to  transpire.  The  indiscretion 
of  a  member  of  the  government  had  revealed  to  the 
actress  the  coming  dissolution  of  the  Chamber  after 
the  present  session.  Raoul  instantly  went  to  Flo- 
rine's  house  and  sent  for  Blondet.  In  the  actress's 
boudoir,  with  their  feet  on  the  fender,  Emile  and  Raoul 
analyzed  the  political  situation  of  France  in  1834.  On 
which  side  lay  the  best  chance  of  fortune?  They  re- 
viewed all  parties  and  all  shades  of  party,  —  pure 
republicans,  presiding  republicans,  republicans  with- 
out a  republic,  constitutionals  without  a  dynasty,  min- 
isterial conservatives,  ministerial  absolutists  ;  also  the 
Right,  the  aristocratic  Right,  the  legitimist,  henriquin- 
quist  Right,  and  the  carlist  Right.  Between  the 
party  of  resistance  and  that  of  action  there  was  no 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  73 

discussion  ;  they  might  as  well  have  hesitated  between 
life  and  death. 

At  this  period  a  flock  of  newspapers,  created  to 
represent  all  shades  of  opinion,  produced  a  fearful 
pell-mell  of  political  principles.  Blondet,  the  most 
judicious  mind  of  the  day,  —  judicious  for  others, 
never  for  himself,  like  some  great  lawyers  unable  to 
manage  their  own  affairs,  —  was  magnificent  in  such  a 
discussion.  The  upshot  was  that  he  advised  Nathan 
not  to  apostatize  too  suddenly. 

"Napoleon  said  it;  you  can't  make  young  republics 
of  old  monarchies.  Therefore,  my  dear  fellow,  be- 
come the  hero,  the  support,  the  creator  of  the  Left 
Centre  in  the  new  Chamber,  and  you  '11  succeed.  Once 
admitted  into  political  ranks,  once  in  the  govern- 
ment, you  can  be  what  you  like,  —  of  any  opinion 
that  triumphs." 

Nathan  was  bent  on  creating  a  daily  political  jour- 
nal and  becoming  the  absolute  master  of  an  enter- 
prise which  should  absorb  into  it  the  countless  little 
papers  then  swarming  from  the  press,  and  establish 
ramifications  with  a  review.  He  had  seen  so  many 
fortunes  made  all  around  him  by  the  press  that  he 
would  not  listen  to  Blondet,  who  warned  him  not  to 
trust  to  such  a  venture,  declaring  that  the  plan  was 
unsound,  so  great  was  the  present  number  of  news- 
papers, all  fighting  for  subscribers.  Raoul,  relying 
on  his  so-called  friends  and  his  own  courage,  was  all 
for  daring  it;  he  sprang  up  eagerly  and  said,  with  a 
proud  gesture,  — 

"I  shall  succeed." 

uBut  you  haven't  a  sou." 


74  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"I  will  write  a  play." 

"It  will  fail." 

"Let  it  fail!  "  replied  Nathan. 

He  rushed  through  the  various  rooms  of  Florine's 
apartment,  followed  by  Blondet,  who  thought  him 
crazy,  looking  with  a  greedy  eye  upon  the  wealth  dis- 
played there.     Blondet  understood  that  look. 

"There's  a  hundred  and  more  thousand  francs  in 
them,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,"  said  Raoul,  sighing,  as  he  looked  at  Flor- 
ine's  sumptuous  bedstead;  "but  I'd  rather  be  a  ped- 
ler  all  my  life  on  the  boulevard,  and  live  on  fried 
potatoes,  than  sell  one  item  of  this  apartment." 

"Not  one  item,"  said  Blondet;  "sell  all.  Ambition 
is  like  death;  it  takes  all  or  nothing." 

"No,  a  hundred  times  no!  I  would  take  anything 
from  my  new  countess;  but  rob  Florine  of  her  shell? 
no." 

"Upset  our  money-box,  break  one's  balance-pole, 
smash  our  refuge,  — yes,  that  would  be  serious,"  said 
Blondet  with  a  tragic  air. 

"It  seems  to  me  from  what  I  hear  that  you  want  to 
play  politics  instead  of  comedies,"  said  Florine,  sud- 
denly appearing. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  yes,"  said  Raoul,  affectionately 
taking  her  by  the  neck  and  kissing  her  forehead. 
"Don't  make  faces  at  that;  you  won't  lose  anything. 
A  minister  can  do  better  than  a  journalist  for  the 
queen  of  the  boards.  What  parts  and  what  holidays 
you  shall  have  !  " 

"Where  will  you  get  the  money?  "  she  said. 

"From  my  uncle,"  replied  Raoul. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  75 

Florine  knew  Raoul's  uncle.  The  word  meant  usury, 
as  in  popular  parlance  aunt  means  pawn. 

"Don't  worry  yourself,  my  little  darling,"  said 
Blondet  to  Florine,  tapping  her  shoulder.  "I  '11  get 
him  the  assistance  of  Massol,  a  lawyer  who  wants  to 
be  Keeper  of  the  Seals,  and  du  Tillet,  who  wants  to  be 
deputy  ;  also  Finot,  who  has  never  yet  got  beyond  his 
petit- journal,  and  Pantin,  who  wants  to  be  master  of 
petitions,  and  who  dabbles  in  reviews.  Yes,  I  '11 
save  him  from  himself;  we'll  convoke  here  to  supper 
Etienne  Lousteau,  who  can  do  the  feuilleton;  Claude 
Vign'on  for  criticisms;  Félicien  Vernou  as  general 
care-tâker;  the  lawyer  will  work,  and  du  Tillet  may 
take  charge  of  the  Bourse,  the  money  article,  and  all 
industrial  questions.  We  '11  see  where  these  various 
talents  and  slaves  united  will  land  the  enterprise." 

"In  a  hospital  or  a  ministry,  —  where  all  men  ruined 
in  body  or  mind  are  apt  to  go,"  said  Raoul,  laughing. 

"Where  and  when  shall  we  invite  them?" 

"Here,  five  days  hence." 

"Tell  me  the  sum  you  want,"  said  Florine,  simply. 

"Well,  the  lawyer,  du  Tillet,  and  Raoul  will  each 
have  to  put  up  a  hundred  thousand  francs  before  they 
embark  on  the  affair,"  replied  Blondet.  "Then  the 
paper  can  run  eighteen  months  ;  about  long  enough  for 
a  rise  and  fall  in  Paris." 

Florine  gave  a  little  grimace  of  approval.  The  two 
friends  jumped  into  a  cabriolet  to  go  about  collecting 
guests  and  pens,  ideas  and  self-interests. 

Florine  meantime  sent  for  certain  dealers  in  old  fur- 
niture, bric-à-brac,  pictures,  and  jewels.  These  men 
entered  her  sanctuary  and  took  an  inventory  of  every 


76  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

article,  precisely  as  if  Florine  were  dead.  She  declared 
she  would  sell  everything  at  public  auction  if  they  did 
not  offer  her  a  proper  price.  She  had  had  the  luck  to 
please,  she  said,  a  rich  English  lord,  and  she  wanted 
to  get  rid  of  all  her  property  and  look  poor,  so  that  he 
might  give  her  a  tine  house  and  furniture,  fit  to  rival 
the  Rothschilds.  But  in  spite  of  these  persuasions 
and  subterfuges,  all  the  dealers  would  offer  her  for  a 
mass  of  belongings  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  was  seventy  thousand.  Florine  thereupon 
offered  to  deliver  over  everything  in  eight  days  for 
eighty  thousand,  —  "To  take  or  leave,"  she  said,  — 
and  the  bargain  was  concluded.  After  the  men  had 
departed  she  skipped  for  joy,  like  the  hills  of  King 
David,  and  performed  all  manner  of  follies,  not  having 
thought  herself  so  rich. 

When  Raoul  came  back  she  made  him  a  little  scene, 
pretending  to  be  hurt;  she  declared  that  he  abandoned 
her  ;  that  she  had  reflected  ;  men  did  not  pass  from  one 
party  to  another,  from  the  stage  to  the  Chamber,  with- 
out some  reason;  there  was  a  woman  at  the  bottom; 
she  had  a  rival  !  In  short,  she  made  him  swear  eternal 
fidelity.  Five  days  later  she  gave  a  splendid  feast. 
The  new  journal  was  baptized  in  floods  of  wine  and 
wit,  with  oaths  of  loyalty,  fidelity,  and  good-fellowship. 
The  name,  forgotten  now  like  those  of  the  Liberal, 
Communal,  Departmental,  Garde  National,  Federal, 
Impartial,  was  something  in  al  that  was  equally  im- 
posing and  evanescent.  At  three  in  the  morning  Flo- 
rine could  undress  and  go  to  bed  as  if  alone,  though 
no  one  had  left  the  house;  these  lights  of  the 'epoch 
were  sleeping  the  sleep  of  brutes.     And  when,  early  in 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  77 

the  morning,  the  packers  and  vans  arrived  to  remove 
Florine's  treasures  she  laughed  to  see  the  porters 
moving  the  bodies  of  the  celebrated  men  like  pieces  of 
furniture  that  lay  in  their  way.  Sic  transit  all  her  fine 
things!  all  her  presents  and  souvenirs  went  to  the 
shops  of  the  various  dealers,  where  no  one  on  seeing 
them  would  know  how  those  flowers  of  luxury  had 
been  originally  paid  for.  It  was  agreed  that  a  few 
little  necessary  articles  should  be  left,  for  Florine's 
personal  convenience  until  evening,  —  her  bed,  a  table, 
a  few  chairs,  and  china  enough  to  give  her  guests  their 
breakfast. 

Having  gone  to  sleep  beneath  the  draperies  of 
wealth  and  luxury,  these  distinguished  men  awoke  to 
find  themselves  within  bare  walls,  full  of  nail-holes, 
degraded  into  abject  poverty. 

"Why,  Florine!  —  The  poor  girl  has  been  seized 
for  debt!"  cried  Bixiou,  who  was  one  of  the  guests. 
"Quick!  a  subscription  for  her!  " 

On  this  they  all  roused  up.  Every  pocket  was 
emptied  and  produced  a  total  of  thirty-seven  francs, 
which  Raoul  carried  in  jest  to  Florine's  bedside.  She 
burst  out  laughing  and  lifted  her  pillow,  beneath  which 
lay  a  mass  of  bank-notes  to  which  she  pointed. 

Raoul  called  to  Blondet. 

"Ah!  I  see!  "  cried  Blondet.  "The  little  cheat  has 
sold  herself  out  without  a  word  to  us.  Well  done,  you 
little  angel!" 

Thereupon,  the  actress  was  borne  in  triumph  into 
the  dining-room  where  most  of  the  party  still  remained. 
The  lawyer  and  du  Tillet  had  departed. 

That  evening  Florine  had  an  ovation  at  the  theatre  ; 


78  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

the  story  of  her  sacrifice  had  circulated  among  the 
audience. 

"I'd  rather  be  applauded  for  my  talent,"  said  her 
rival  in  the  green-room. 

"A  natural  desire  in  an  actress  who  has  never  been 
applauded  at  all,"  remarked  Florine. 

During  the  evening  Florine's  maid  installed  her 
in  Raoul' s  apartment  in  the  Passage  Sandrié.  Raoul 
himself  was  to  encamp  in  the  house  where  the  office 
of  the  new  journal  was  established. 

Such  was  the  rival  of  the  innocent  Madame  de  Van- 
denesse.  Raoul  was  the  connecting  link  between  the 
actress  and  the  countess, —  a  knot  severed  by  a  duchess 
in  the  days  of  Louis  XV.  by  the  poisoning  of  Adri- 
enne  Lecouvreur;  a  not  inconceivable  vengeance,  con- 
sidering the  offence. 

Florine,  however,  was  not  in  the  way  of  Raoul' s 
dawning  passion.  She  foresaw  the  lack  of  money  in 
the  difficult  enterprise  he  had  undertaken,  and  she 
asked  for  leave  of  absence  from  the  theatre.  Raoul 
conducted  the  negotiation  in  a  way  to  make  himself 
more  than  ever  valuable  to  her.  With  the  good  sense 
of  the  peasant  in  La  Fontaine's  fable,  who  makes  sure 
of  a  dinner  while  the  patricians  talk,  the  actress  went 
into  the  provinces  to  cut  faggots  for  her  celebrated 
man  while  he  was  employed  in  hunting  power. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  79 


VI. 

ROMANTIC    LOVE. 

On  the  morrow  of  the  ball  given  by  Lady  Dudley, 
Marie,  without  having  received  the  slightest  declara- 
tion, believed  that  she  was  loved  by  Raoul  according 
to  the  programme  of  her  dreams,  and  Raoul  was  aware 
that  the  countess  had  chosen  him  for  her  lover.  Though 
neither  had  reached  the  incline  of  such  emotions  where 
preliminaries  are  abridged,  both  were  on  the  road  to 
it.  Raoul,  wearied  with  the  dissipations  of  life, 
longed  for  an  ideal  world,  while  Marie,  from  whom  the 
thought  of  wrong-doing  was  far,  indeed,  never  imag- 
ined the  possibility  of  going  out  of  such  a  world. 
No  love  was  ever  more  innocent  or  purer  than  theirs  ; 
but  none  was  ever  more  enthusiastic  or  more  entrancing 
in  thought. 

The  countess  was  captivated  by  ideas  worthy  of  the 
days  of  chivalry,  though  completely  modernized.  The 
glowing  conversation  of  the  poet  had  more  echo  in  her 
mind  than  in  her  heart.  She  thought  it  fine  to  be  his 
providence.  How  sweet  the  thought  of  supporting  by 
her  white  and  feeble  hand  this  colossus, — whose  feet  of 
clay  she  did  not  choose  to  see  ;  of  giving  life  where  life 
was  needed  ;  of  being  secretly  the  creator  of  a  career  ; 
of  helping  a  man  of  genius  to  struggle  with  fate  and 
master  it.  Ah!  to  embroider  his  scarf  for  the  tour- 
nament! to   procure   him   weapons!  to  be   his   talis- 


80  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

man  against  ill-fortune!  his  balm  for  every  wound! 
For  a  woman  brought  up  like  Marie,  religious  and 
noble  as  she  was,  such  a  love  was  a  form  of  charity. 
Hence  the  boldness  of  it.  Pure  sentiments  often 
compromise  themselves  with  a  lofty  disdain  that 
resembles  the  boldness  of  courtesans. 

As  soon  as  by  her  specious  distinctions  Marie  had 
convinced  herself  that  she  did  not  in  any  way  impair 
her  conjugal  faith,  she  rushed  into  the  happiness  of 
loving  Raoul.  The  least  little  things  of  her  daily  life 
acquired  a  charm.  Her  boudoir,  where  she  thought  of 
him,  became  a  sanctuary.  There  was  nothing  there 
that  did  not  rouse  some  sense  of  pleasure;  even  her 
ink-stand  was  the  coming  accomplice  in  the  pleasures 
of  correspondence  ;  for  she  would  now  have  letters  to 
read  and  answer.  Dress,  that  splendid  poesy  of  the 
feminine  life,  unknown  or  exhausted  by  her,  appeared 
to  her  eyes  endowed  with  a  magic  hitherto  unperceived. 
It  suddenly  became  to  her  what  it  is  to  most  women, 
the  manifestation  of  an  inward  thought,  a  language, 
a  symbol.  How  many  enjoyments  in  a  toilet  ar- 
ranged to  please  him,  to  do  him  honor!  She  gave 
herself  up  ingenuously  to  all  those  gracefully  charming 
things  in  which  so  many  Parisian  women  spend  their 
lives,  and  which  give  such  significance  to  all  that  we 
see  about  them,  and  in  them,  and  on  them.  Few 
women  go  to  milliners  and,  dressmakers  for  their  own 
pleasure  and  interest.  When  old  they  never  think  of 
adornment.  The  next  time  you  meet  in  the  street  a 
young  woman  stopping  for  a  moment  to  look  into  a 
shop-window,  examine  her  face  carefully.  "Will  he 
think  I  look  better  in  that?  "  are  the  words  written  on 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  81 

that  fair  brow,  in  the  eyes  sparkling  with  hope,  in 
the  smile  that  flickers  on  the  lips. 

Lady  Dudley's  ball  took  place  on  a  Saturday  night. 
On  the  following  Monday  the  countess  went  to  the 
Opera,  feeling  certain  of  seeing  Raoul,  who  was,  in 
fact,  watching  for  her  on  one  of  the  stairways  leading 
down  to  the  stalls.  With  what  delight  did  she  observe 
the  unwonted  care  he  had  bestowed  upon  his  clothes. 
This  despiser  of  the  laws  of  elegance  had  brushed  and 
perfumed  his  hair;  his  waistcoat  followed  the  fashion, 
his  cravat  was  well  tied,  the  bosom  of  his  shirt  was 
irreproachably  smooth.  Raoul  was  standing  with  his 
arms  crossed  as  if  posed  for  his  portrait,  magnificently 
indifferent  to  the  rest  of  the  audience  and  full  of  re- 
pressed impatience.  Though  lowered,  his  eyes  were 
turned  to  the  red  velvet  cushion  on  which  lay  Marie's 
arm.  Félix,  seated  in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  box, 
had  his  back  to  Nathan. 

So,  in  a  moment,  as  it  were,  Marie  had  compelled 
this  remarkable  man  to  abjure  his  cynicism  in  the  line 
of  clothes.  All  women,  high  or  low,  are  filled  with 
delight  on  seeing  a  first  proof  of  their  power  in  one  of 
these  sudden  metamorphoses.  Such  changes  are  an 
admission  of  serfdom. 

"Those  women  were  right;  there  is  a  great  pleasure 
in  being  understood,"  she  said  to  herself,  thinking  of 
her  treacherous  friends. 

When  the  two  lovers  had  gazed  around  the  theatre 
with  that  glance  that  takes  in  everything,  they  ex- 
changed a  look  of  intelligence.  It  was  for  each  as 
if  some  celestial  dew  had  refreshed  their  hearts, 
burned-up  with  expectation. 


82  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"I  have  been  here  for  an  hour  in  purgatory,  but  now 
the  heavens  are  opening,"  said  Raoul's  eyes. 

UI  knew  you  were  waiting,  but  how  could  I  help 
it?"  replied  those  of  the  countess. 

Thieves,  spies,  lovers,  diplomats,  and  slaves  of  any 
kind  alone  know  the  resources  and  comforts  of  a 
glance.  They  alone  know  what  it  contains  of  mean- 
ing, sweetness,  thought,  anger,  villany,  displayed  by 
the  modification  of  that  ray  of  light  which  conveys  the 
soul.  Between  the  box  of  the  Comtesse  Félix  de  Van- 
denesse  and  the  step  on  which  Raoul  had  perched 
there  were  barely  thirty  feet  ;  and  yet  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  wipe  out  that  distance.  To  a  fiery  being,  who 
had  hitherto  known  no  space  between  his  wishes  and 
their  gratification,  this  imaginary  but  insuperable 
gulf  inspired  a  mad  desire  to  spring  to  the  countess 
with  the  bound  of  a  tiger.  In  a  species  of  rage  he 
determined  to  try  the  ground  and  bow  openly  to  the 
countess.  She  returned  the  bow  with  one  of  those 
slight  inclinations  of  the  head  with  which  women  take 
from  their  adorers  all  desire  to  continue  their  attempt. 
Comte  Félix  turned  round  to  see  who  had  bowed  to 
his  wife  ;  he  saw  Nathan,  but  did  not  bow,  and  seemed 
to  inquire  the  meaning  of  such  audacity;  then  he 
turned  back  slowly  and  said  a  few  words  to  his  wife. 
Evidently  the  door  of  that  box  was  closed  to  Nathan, 
who  cast  a  terrible  look  of  hatred  upon  Félix. 

Madame  d'Espard  had  seen  the  whole  thing  from 
her  box,  which  was  just  above  where  Raoul  was  stand- 
ing. She  raised  her  voice  in  crying  bravo  to  some 
singer,  which  caused  Nathan  to  look  up  to  her;  he 
bowed  and  received  in  return  a  gracious  smile  which 
seemed  to  say:  — 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  83 

"If  they  won't  admit  you  there  come  here  to  me." 

Raoul  obeyed  the  silent  summons  and  went  to  her 
box.  He  felt  the  need  of  showing  himself  in  a  place 
which  might  teach  that  little  Vandenesse  that  fame 
was  every  whit  as  good  as  nobility,  and  that  all  doors 
turned  on  their  hinges  to  admit  him.  The  marquise 
made  him  sit  in  front  of  her.  She  wanted  to  question 
him. 

"Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse  is  fascinating  in 
that  gown,"  she  said,  complimenting  the  dress  as  if  it 
were  a  book  he  had  published  the  day  before. 

"Yes,"  said  Raoul,  indifferently,  "marabouts  are 
very  becoming  to  her;  but  she  seems  wedded  to  them; 
she  wore  them  on  Saturday,"  he  added,  in  a  careless 
tone,  as  if  to  repudiate  the  intimacy  Madame  d'Espard 
was  fastening  upon  him. 

"You  know  the  proverb,"  she  replied.  "There  is 
no  good  fête  without  a  morrow." 

In  the  matter  of  repartees  literary  celebrities  are 
often  not  as  quick  as  women.  Raoul  pretended  dul- 
ness,  a  last  resource  for  clever  men. 

"That  proverb  is  true  in  my  case,"  he  said,  looking 
gallantly  at  the  marquise. 

"My  dear  friend,  your  speech  comes  too  late;  I 
can't  accept  it,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Don't  be  so 
prudish!  Come,  I  know  how  it  was;  you  compli- 
mented Madame  de  Vandenesse  at  the  ball  on  her 
marabouts,  and  she  has  put  them  on  again  for  your 
sake.  She  likes  you,  and  you  adore  her;  it  may  be  a 
little  rapid,  but  it  is  all  very  natural.  If  I  were  mis- 
taken you  would  n't  be  twisting  your  gloves  like  a  man 
who  is  furious  at  having  to  sit  here  with  me  instead 


84  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

of  flying  to  the  box  of  his  idol.  She  has  obtained," 
continued  Madame  d'Espard,  glancing  at  his  person 
impertinently,  "certain  sacrifices  which  you  refused 
to  make  to  society.  She  ought  to  be  delighted  with 
her  success,  —  in  fact,  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  vain 
of  it;  I  should  be  so  in  her  place  —  immensely.  She 
was  never  a  woman  of  any  mind,  but  she  may  now 
pass  for  one  of  genius.  I  am  sure  you  will  describe 
her  in  one  of  those  delightful  novels  you  write. 
And  pray  don't  forget  Vandenesse;  put  him  in  to 
please  me.  Really,  his  self-sufficiency  is  too  much. 
I  can't  stand  that  Jupiter  Olympian  air  of  his,  —  the 
only  mythological  character  exempt,  they  say,  from 
ill-luck.,, 

"Madame,"  cried  Raoul,"  you  rate  my  soul  very  low 
if  you  think  me  capable  of  trafficking  with  my  feel- 
ings, my  affections.  Rather  than  commit  such  literary 
baseness,  I  would  do  as  they  do  in  England,  —  put 
a  rope  round  a  woman's  neck  and  sell  her  in  the 
market." 

"But  I  know  Marie;  she  would  like  you  to  do  it." 

"She  is  incapable  of  liking  it,"  said  Raoul,  vehe- 
mently. 

"Oh!  then  you  do  know  her  well? " 

Nathan  laughed;  he,  the  maker  of  scenes,  to  be 
trapped  into  playing  one  himself! 

"Comedy  is  no  longer  there,"  he  said,  nodding  at 
the  stage;  "it  is  here,  in  you." 

He  took  his  opera-glass  and  looked  about  the  theatre 
to  recover  countenance. 

"You  are  not  angry  with  me,  I  hope?"  said  the 
marquise,  giving  him  a  sidelong  glance.     "I  should 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  85 

have  had  your  secret  somehow.  Let  us  make  peace. 
Come  and  see  me;  I  receive  every  Wednesday,  and  I 
am  sure  the  dear  countess  will  never  miss  an  evening 
if  I  let  her  know  you  will  be  there.  So  I  shall  be  the 
gainer.  Sometimes  she  comes  between  four  and  five 
o'clock,  and  I  '11  be  kind  and  add  you  to  the  little  set 
of  favorites  I  admit  at  that  hour." 

"Ah!"  cried  Raoul,  "how  the  world  judges;  it 
calls  you  unkind." 

"So  I  am  when  I  need  to  be,"  she  replied.  "We 
must  defend  ourselves.  But  your  countess  I  adore; 
you  will  be  contented  with  her;  she  is  charming.  Your 
name  will  be  the  first  engraved  upon  her  heart  with 
that  infantine  joy  that  makes  a  lad  cut  the  initials  of 
his  love  on  the  barks  of  trees." 

Raoul  was  aware  of  the  danger  of  such  conversa- 
tions, in  which  a  Parisian  woman  excels  ;  he  feared  the 
marquise  would  extract  some  admission  from  him 
which  she  would  instantly  turn  into  ridicule  among  her 
friends.  He  therefore  withdrew,  prudently,  as  Lady 
Dudley  entered. 

"Well?"  said  the  Englishwoman  to  the  marquise, 
"how  far  have  they  got?  " 

"They  are  madly  in  love;  he  has  just  told  me  so." 

"I  wish  he  were  uglier,"  said  Lady  Dudley,  with  a 
viperish  look  at  Comte  Félix.  "In  other  respects  he 
is  just  what  I  want  him  :  the  son  of  a  Jew  broker  who 
died  a  bankrupt  soon  after  his  marriage;  but  the 
mother  was  a  Catholic,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  she  made 
a  Christian  of  the  boy." 

This  origin,  which  Nathan  thought  carefully  con- 
cealed,   Lady   Dudley   had   just  discovered,  and  she 


86  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

enjoyed  by  anticipation  the  pleasure  she  should  have 
in  launching  some  terrible  ^epigram  against  Van- 
denesse. 

"Heavens!  I  have  just  invited  him  to  my  house!  " 
cried  Madame  d'Espard. 

"Did  n't  I  receive  him  at  my  ball?  "  replied  Lady 
Dudley.     "Some  pleasures,  my  dear  love,  are  costly." 

The  news  of  the  mutual  attachment  between  Raoul 
and  Madame  de  Vandenesse  circulated  in  the  world 
after  this,  but  not  without  exciting  denials  and  incre- 
dulity. The  countess,  however,  was  defended  by  her 
friends,  Lady  Dudley,  and  Mesdames  d'Espard  and 
de  Manerville,  with  an  unnecessary  warmth  that  gave 
a  certain  color  to  the  calumny. 

On  the  following  Wednesday  evening  Raoul  went  to 
Madame  d'Espard' s,  and  was  able  to  exchange  a  few 
sentences  with  Marie,  more  expressive  by  their  tones 
than  their  ideas.  In  the  midst  of  the  elegant  assembly 
both  found  pleasure  in  those  enjoyable  sensations 
given  by  the  voice,  the  gestures,  the  attitude  of  one 
beloved.  The  soul  then  fastens  upon  absolute  noth- 
ings. No  longer  do  ideas  or  even  language  speak, 
but  things  ;  and  these  so  loudly,  that  often  a  man  lets 
another  pay  the  small  attentions  —  bring  a  cup  of  tea, 
or  the  sugar  to  sweeten  it  —  demanded  by  the  woman 
he  loves,  fearful  of  betraying  his  emotion  to  eyes  that 
seem  to  see  nothing  and  yet  see  all.  Raoul,  however, 
a  man  indifferent  to  the  eyes  of  the  world,  betrayed 
his  passion  in  his  speech  and  was  brilliantly  witty. 
The  company  listened  to  the  roar  of  a  discourse  in- 
spired by  the  restraint  put  upon  him  ;  restraint  being 
that   which   artists    cannot   endure.       This   Rolandic 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  87 

fury,  this  wit  which  slashed  down  all  things,  using 
epigram  as  its  weapon,  intoxicated  Marie  and  amused 
the  circle  around  them,  as  the  sight  of  a  bull  goaded 
with  banderols  amuses  the  company  in  a  Spanish 
circus. 

"You  may  kick  as  you  please,  but  you  can't  make 
a  solitude  about  you,"  whispered  Blondet. 

The  words  brought  Raoul  to  his  senses,  and  he 
ceased  to  exhibit  his  irritation  to  the  company. 
Madame  d'Espard  came  up  to  offer  him  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  said  loud  enough  for  Madame  de  Vandenesse  to 
hear: — 

"You  are  certainly  very  amusing;  come  and  see  me 
sometimes  at  four  o'clock." 

The  word  "amusing"  offended  Raoul,  though  it 
was  used  as  the  ground  of  an  invitation.  Blondet 
took  pity  on  him. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  taking  him  aside  into  a 
corner,  "you  are  behaving  in  society  as  if  you  were 
at  Florine's.  Here  no  one  shows  annoyance,  or 
spouts  long  articles  ;  they  say  a  few  words  now  and 
then,  they  look  their  calmest  when  most  desirous  of 
flinging  others  out  of  the  window  ;  they  sneer  softly, 
they  pretend  not  to  think  of  the  woman  they  adore,  and 
they  are  careful  not  to  roll  like  a  donkey  on  the  high- 
road. In  society,  my  good  Raoul,  conventions  rule 
love.  Either  carry  off  Madame  de  Vandenesse,  or 
show  yourself  a  gentleman.  As  it  is,  you  are  play- 
ing the  lover  in  one  of  your  own  books." 

Nathan  listened  with  his  head  lowered  ;  he  was  like 
a  lion  caught  in  a  toil. 

"I'll  never  set  foot  in  this  house  again,"  he  cried. 


88  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"That  papier-mâché  marquise  sells  her  tea  too  dear. 
She  thinks  me  amusing  !  I  understand  now  why  Saint- 
Just  wanted  to  guillotine  this  whole  class  of  people  !  " 

"You'll  be  back  here  to-morrow." 

Blondet  was  right.  Passions  are  as  mean  as  they 
are  cruel.  The  next  day  after  long  hesitation  between 
" I  '11  go  —  I  '11  not  go,"  Raoul  left  his  new  partners  in 
the  midst  of  an  important  discussion  and  rushed  to 
Madame  d'Espard's  house  in  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Honoré.  Beholding  Rastignac's  elegant  cabriolet 
enter  the  court-yard  while  he  was  paying  his  cab  at  the 
gate,  Nathan's  vanity  was  stung;  he  resolved  to  have 
a  cabriolet  himself,  and  its  accompanying  tiger,  too. 
The  carriage  of  the  countess  was  in  the  courtyard, 
and  the  sight  of  it  swelled  Raoul' s  heart  with  joy. 
Marie  was  advancing  under  the  pressure  of  her  desires 
with  the  regularity  of  the  hands  of  a  clock  obeying 
the  mainspring.  He  found  her  sitting  at  the  corner 
of  the  fireplace  in  the  little  salon.  Instead  of  looking 
at  Nathan  when  he  was  announced,  she  looked  at  his 
reflection  in  a  mirror. 

"Monsieur  le  ministre,"  said  Madame  d'Espard, 
addressing  Nathan,  and  presenting  him  to  de  Marsay 
by  a  glance,  "was  maintaining,  when  you  came  in, 
that  the  royalists  and  the  republicans  have  a  secret 
understanding.  You  ought  to  know  something  about 
it;  is  it  so?" 

"If  it  were  so,"  said  Raoul,  "where 's  the  harm? 
We  hate  the  same  thing  ;  we  agree  as  to  our  hatreds, 
we  differ  only  in  our  love.  That 's  the  whole  of 
it." 

'The  alliance  is  odd  enough,"  said  de  Marsay,  giv- 


U' 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  89. 

ing  a  comprehensively  meaning  glance  at  the  Comtesse 
Félix  and  Nathan. 

' 'It  won't  last,"  said  Rastignac,  thinking,  perhaps, 
wholly  of  politics. 

"What  do  you  think,  my  dear?"  asked  Madame 
d'Espard,  addressing  Marie. 

"I  know  nothing  of  public  affairs,"  replied  the 
countess. 

4 'But  you  soon  will,  madame,"  said  de  Marsay, 
"and  then  you  will  be  doubly  our  enemy." 

So  saying  he  left  the  room  with  Rastignac,  and 
Madame  d'Espard  accompanied  them  to  the  door  of 
the  first  salon.  The  lovers  had  the  room  to  themselves 
for  a  few  moments.  Marie  held  out  her  ungloved  hand 
to  Raoul,  who  took  and  kissed  it  as  though  he  were 
eighteen  years  old.  The  eyes  of  the  countess  ex- 
pressed so  noble  a  tenderness  that  the  tears  Avhich  men 
of  nervous  temperament  can  always  find  at  their  ser- 
vice came  into  Raoul's  eyes. 

"Where  can  I  see  you?  where  can  I  speak  with 
you?"  he  said.  "It  is  death  to  be  forced  to  disguise 
my  voice,  my  look,  my  heart,  my  love  —  " 

Moved  by  that  tear  Marie  promised  to  drive  daily 
in  the  Bois,  unless  the  weather  were  extremely  bad. 
This  promise  gave  Raoul  more  pleasure  than  he  had 
found  in  Florine  for  the  last  five  years. 

"I  have  so  many  things  to  say  to  you!  I  suffer 
from  the  silence  to  which  we  are  condemned  —  " 

The  countess  looked  at  him  eagerly  without  replying, 
and  at  that  moment  Madame  d'Espard  returned  to  the 
room. 

"Why  didn't  you  answer  de  Marsay?"  she  said  as 
she  entered. 


90  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"We  ought  to  respect  the  dead,"  replied  Raoul. 
"Don't  you  see  that  he  is  dying?  Rastignac  is  his 
nurse,  — hoping  to  be  put  in  the  will." 

The  countess  pretended  to  have  other  visits  to  pay, 
and  left  the  house. 

For  this  quarter  of  an  hour  Raoul  had  sacrificed 
important  interests  and  most  precious  time.  Marie 
was  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  life  of  such  men,  in- 
volved in  complicated  affairs  and  burdened  with  exact- 
ing toil.  Women  of  society  are  still  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  traditions  of  the  eighteenth  century,  in 
which  all  positions  were  definite  and  assured.  Few 
women  know  the  harassments  in  the  life  of  most  men 
who  in  these  days  have  a  position  to  make  and  to 
maintain,  a  fame  to  reach,  a  fortune  to  consolidate. 
Men  of  settled  wealth  and  position  can  now  be 
counted;  old  men  alone  have  time  to  love;  young 
men  are  rowing,  like  Nathan,  the  galleys  of  ambi- 
tion. Women  are  not  yet  resigned  to  this  change  of 
customs;  they  suppose  the  same  leisure  of  which 
they  have  too  much  in  those  who  have  none;  they 
cannot  imagine  other  occupations,  other  ends  in  life 
than  their  own.  When  a  lover  has  vanquished  the 
Lernean  hydra  in  order  to  pay  them  a  visit  he  has  no 
merit  in  their  eyes  ;  they  are  only  grateful  to  him  for 
the  pleasure  he  gives  ;  they  neither  know  nor  care  what 
it  costs.  Raoul  became  aware  as  he  returned  from  this 
visit  how  difficult  it  would  be  to  hold  the  reins  of  a 
love-affair  in  society,  the  ten-horsed  chariot  of  jour- 
nalism, his  dramas  on  the  stage,  and  his  generally 
involved  affairs. 

"The  paper  will  be  wretched  to-night,"  he  thought, 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  91 

as  he  walked  away.     "No  article  of  mine,  and  only 
the  second  number,  too!  " 

Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse  drove  three  times  to 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  without  finding  Raoul  ;  the  third 
time  she  came  back  anxious  and  uneasy.  The  fact 
was  that  Nathan  did  not  choose  to  show  himself  in 
the  Bois  until  he  could  go  there  as  a  prince  of  the 
press.  He  employed  a  whole  week  in  searching  for 
horses,  a  phaeton  and  a  suitable  tiger,  and  in  convinc- 
ing his  partners  of  the  necessity  of  saving  time  so 
precious  to  them,  and  therefore  of  charging  his  equi- 
page to  the  costs  of  the  journal.  His  associates, 
Massol  and  du  Tillet  agreed  to  this  so  readily  that  he 
really  believed  them  the  best  fellows  in  the  world. 
Without  this  help,  however,  life  would  have  been 
simply  impossible  to  Raoul  ;  as  it  was,  it  became  so 
irksome  that  many  men,  even  those  of  the  strongest 
constitutions,  could  not  have  borne  it.  A  violent  and 
successful  passion  takes  a  great  deal  of  space  in  an 
ordinary  life  ;  but  when  it  is  connected  with  a  woman 
in  the  social  position  of  Madame  de  Vandenesse  it 
sucks  the  life  out  of  a  man  as  busy  as  Raoul.  Here 
is  a  list  of  the  obligations  his  passion  imposed  upon 
him. 

Every  day,  or  nearly  every  day,  he  was  obliged  to 
be  on  horseback  in  the  Bois,  between  two  and  three 
o'clock,  in  the  careful  dress  of  a  gentleman  of  leisure. 
He  had  to  learn  at  what  house  or  theatre  he  could  meet 
Madame  de  Vandenesse  in  the  evening.  He  was  not 
able  to  leave  the  party  or  the  play  until  long  after 
midnight,  having  obtained  nothing  better  than  a  few 
tender  sentences,  long  awaited,  said  in  a  doorway,  or 


92  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

hastily  as  he  put  her  into  her  carriage.  It  frequently 
happened  that  Marie,  who  by  this  time  had  launched 
him  into  the  great  world,  procured  for  him  invitations 
to  dinner  in  certain  houses  where  she  went  herself. 
All  this  seemed  the  simplest  life  in  the  world  to  her. 
Kaoul  moved  by  pride  and  led  on  by  his  passion  never 
told  her  of  his  labors.  He  obeyed  the  will  of  this 
innocent  sovereign,  followed  in  her  train,  followed, 
also,  the  parliamentary  debates,  edited  and  wrote  for 
his  newspaper,  and  put  upon  the  stage  two  plays,  the 
money  for  which  was  absolutely  indispensable  to  him. 
It  sufficed  for  Madame  de  Vandenesse  to  make  a  little 
face  of  displeasure  when  he  tried  to  excuse  himself 
from  attending  a  ball,  a  concert,  or  from  driving  in 
the  Bois,  to  compel  him  to  sacrifice  his  most  pressing 
interests  to  her  good  pleasure.  When  he  left  society 
between  one  and  two  in  the  morning  he  went  straight 
to  work  until  eight  or  nine.  He  was  scarcely  asleep 
before  he  was  obliged  to  be  up  and  concocting  the 
opinions  of  his  journal  with  the  men  of  political  influ- 
ence on  whom  he  depended,  —  not  to  speak  of  the  thou- 
sand and  one  other  details  of  the  paper.  Journalism 
is  connected  with  everything  in  these  days;  with 
industrial  concerns,  with  public  and  private  interests, 
with  all  new  enterprises,  and  all  the  schemes  of  litera- 
ture, its  self-loves,  and  its  products. 

When  Nathan,  harassed  and  fatigued,  would  rush 
from  his  editorial  office  to  the  theatre,  from  the  theatre 
to  the  Chamber,  from  the  Chamber  to  face  certain 
creditors,  he  was  forced  to  appear  in  the  Bois  with  a 
calm  countenance,  and  gallop  beside  Marie's  carriage 
in  the  leisurely  style  of  a  man  devoid  of  cares  and 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  93 

with  no  other  duties  than  those  of  love.  When  in 
return  for  this  toilsome  and  wholly  ignored  devotion 
all  he  won  were  a  few  sweet  words,  the  prettiest  assur- 
ances of  eternal  attachment,  ardent  pressures  of  the 
hand  on  the  very  few  occasions  when  they  found  them- 
selves alone,  he  began  to  feel  he  was  rather  duped  by 
leaving  his  mistress  in  ignorance  of  the  enormous  costs 
of  these  "little  attentions,"  as  our  fathers  called  them. 
The  occasion  for  an  explanation  arrived  in  due  time. 

On  a  fine  April  morning  the  countess  accepted 
Nathan's  arm  for  a  walk  through  a  sequestered  path 
of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  She  intended  to  make  him 
one  of  those  pretty  little  quarrels  apropos  of  nothing, 
which  women  are  so  fond  of  exciting.  Instead  of 
greeting  him  as  usual,  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips, 
her  forehead  illumined  with  pleasure,  her  eyes  bright 
with  some  gay  or  delicate  thought,  she  assumed  a 
grave  and  serious  aspect. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Nathan. 

"Why  do  you  pretend  to  such  ignorance?"  she 
replied.  "You  ought  to  know  that  a  woman  is  not  a 
child." 

"Have  I  displeased  you?  " 

"Should  I  be  here  if  you  had?" 

"But  you  don't  smile  to  me;  you  don't  seem  happy 
to  see  me." 

"Oh!  do  you  mean  to  accuse  me  of  sulking?"  she 
said,  looking  at  him  with  that  submissive  air  which 
women  assume  when  they  want  to  seem  victims. 

Nathan  walked  on  a  few  steps  in  a  state  of  real 
apprehension  which  oppressed  him. 

"It  must  be,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's   silence, 


94  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"one  of  those  frivolous  fears,  those  hazy  suspicions 
which  women  dwell  on  more  than  they  do  on  the 
great  things  of  life.  You  all  have  a  way  of  tipping 
the  world  sideways  with  a  straw,  a  cobweb  —  " 

"Sarcasm!  "  she  said.     "I  might  have  expected  it." 

"Marie,  my  angel,  I  only  said  those  words  to  wring 
your  secret  out  of  you." 

"My  secret  would  be  "always  a  secret,  even  if  I 
told  it  to  you." 

"But  all  the  same,  tell  it  to  me." 

"I  am  not  loved,"  she  said,  giving  him  one  of 
those  sly  oblique  glances  with  which  women  question 
so  maliciously  the  men  they  are  trying  to  torment. 

"Not  loved!  "  cried  Nathan. 

"No  ;  you  are  too  occupied  with  other  things.  What 
am  I  to  you  in  the  midst  of  them?  forgotten  on  the 
least  occasion  !  Yesterday  I  came  to  the  Bois  and  you 
were  not  here  —  " 

"But  —  " 

"I  had  put  on  a  new  dress  expressly  to  please  you; 
you  did  not  come;  where  were  you?  " 

"But  —  " 

"I  did  not  know  where.  I  went  to  Madame 
d'Espard's;  you  were  not  there." 

"But  —  " 

"  That  evening  at  the  Opera,  I  watched  the  balcony  ; 
every  time  a  door  opened  my  heart  was  beating  !  " 

"But—" 

"  What  an  evening  I  had  !  You  don't  reflect  on  such 
tempests  of  the  heart." 

"But  —  " 

"Life  is  shortened  by  such  emotions." 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  95 

"But  —  " 

"Well,  what?"  she  said. 

"You  are  right;  life  is  shortened  by  them,"  said 
Nathan,  "and  in  a  few  months  you  will  utterly  have 
consumed  mine.  Your  unreasonable  reproaches  drag 
my  secret  from  me  —  Ha  !  you  say  you  are  not  loved  ; 
you  are  loved  too  well." 

And  thereupon  he  vividly  depicted  his  position,  told 
of  his  sleepless  nights,  his  duties  at  certain  hours,  the 
absolute  necessity  of  succeeding  in  his  enterprise,  the 
insatiable  requirements  of  a  newspaper  in  which  he 
was  required  to  judge  the  events  of  the  whole  world 
without  blundering,  under  pain  of  losing  his  power, 
and  so  losing  all,  the  infinite  amount  of  rapid  study 
he  was  forced  to  give  to  questions  which  passed  as 
rapidly  as  clouds  in  this  all-consuming  age,  etc.,  etc. 

Raoul  made  a  great  mistake.  The  Marquise 
d'Espard  had  said  to  him  on  one  occasion,  "Nothing 
is  more  naive  than  a  first  love."  As  he  unfolded  before 
Marie's  eyes  this  life  which  seemed  to  her  immense, 
the  countess  was  overcome  with  admiration.  She  had 
thought  Nathan  grand,  she  how  considered  him  sub- 
lime. She  blamed  herself  for  loving  him  too  much  ; 
begged  him  to  come  to  her  only  when  he  could  do  so 
without  difficulty.  Wait?  indeed  she  could  wait  !  In 
future,  she  should  know  how  to  sacrifice  her  enjoy- 
ments. Wishing  to  be  his  stepping-stone  was  she 
really  an  obstacle?     She  wept  with  despair. 

"Women,"  she  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "can 
only  love;  men  act;  they  have  a  thousand  ways  in 
which  they  are  bound  to  act.  But  we  can  only  think, 
and  pray,  and  worship." 


96  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

A  love  that  had  sacrificed  so  much  for  her  sake 
deserved  a  recompense.  She  looked  about  her  like  a 
nightingale  descending  from  a  leafy  covert  to  drink 
at  a  spring,  to  see  if  she  were  alone  in  the  solitude,  if 
the  silence  hid  no  witness  ;  then  she  raised  her  head  to 
Raoul,  who  bent  his  own,  and  let  him  take  one  kiss, 
the  first  and  the  only  one  she  ever  gave  in  secret,  feel- 
ing happier  at  that  moment  than  she  had  felt  in  five 
years.  Raoul  thought  all  his  toils  well-paid.  They 
both  walked  forward  they  scarcely  knew  where,  but 
it  was  on  the  road  to  Auteuil;  presently,  however, 
they  were  forced  to  return  and  find  their  carriages, 
pacing  together  with  the  rhythmic  step  well-known  to 
lovers.  Raoul  had  faith  in  that  kiss  given  with  the 
quiet  facility  of  a  sacred  sentiment.  All  the  evil  of  it 
was  in  the  mind  of  the  world,  not  in  that  of  the 
woman  who  walked  beside  him.  Marie  herself,  given 
over  to  the  grateful  admiration  which  characterizes  the 
love  of  woman,  walked  with  a  firm,  light  step  on  the 
gravelled  path,  saying,  like  Raoul,  but  few  words; 
yet  those  few  were  felt  and  full  of  meaning.  The  sky 
was  cloudless,  the  tall  trees  had  bourgeoned,  a  few 
green  shoots  were  already  brightening  their  myriad  of 
brown  twigs.  The  shrubs,  the  birches,  the  willows, 
the  poplars  were  showing  their  first  diaphanous  and 
tender  foliage.  No  soul  resists  these  harmonies. 
Love  explained  Nature  as  it  had  already  explained 
society  to  Marie's  heart. 

"I  wish  you  had  never  loved  any  one  but  me,"  she 
said. 

"Your  wish  is  realized,"  replied  Raoul.  "We  have 
awakened  in  each  other  the  only  true  love." 


A  Laughter  of  Eve,  97 

He  spoke  the  truth  as  he  felt  it.  Posing  before  this 
innocent  young  heart  as  a  pure  man,  Raoul  was  caught 
himself  by  his  own  fine  sentiments.  At  first  purely 
speculative  and  born  of  vanity,  his  love  had  now 
become  sincere.  He  began  by  lying,  he  had  ended 
in  speaking  truth.  In  all  writers  there  is  ever  a 
sentiment,  difficult  to  stifle,  which  impels  them  to 
admire  the  highest  good.  The  countess,  on  her  part, 
after  her  first  rush  of  gratitude  and  surprise,  was 
charmed  to  have  inspired  such  sacrifices,  to  have  caused 
him  to  surmount  such  difficulties.  She  was  beloved  by 
a  man  who  was  worthy  of  her!  Raoul  was  totally 
ignorant  to  what  his  imaginary  grandeur  bound  him. 
Women  will  not  suffer  their  idol  to  step  down  from  his 
pedestal.  They  do  not  forgive  the  slightest  pettiness 
in  a  god.  Marie  was  far  from  knowing  the  solution 
of  the  riddle  given  by  Raoul  to  his  friends  at  Very's. 
The  struggle  of  this  writer,  risen  from  the  lower 
classes,  had  cost  him  the  ten  first  years  of  his  youth  ; 
and  now  in  the  days  of  his  success  he  longed  to  be 
loved  by  one  of  the  queens  of  the  great  world.  Van- 
ity, without  which,  as  Champfort  says,  love  would  be 
but  a  feeble  thing,  sustained  his  passion  and  increased 
it  day  by  day. 

"Can  you  swear  to  me,"  said  Marie,  uthat  you  be- 
long and  will  never  belong  to  any  other  woman  ?  " 

"There  is  neither  time  in  my  life  nor  place  in  my 
heart  for  any  other  woman,"  replied  Raoul,  not  think- 
ing that  he  told  a  lie,  so  little  did  he  value  Florine. 

"I  believe  you,"  she  said. 

When  they  reached  the  alley  where  their  carriages 
were  waiting,  Marie  dropped   Raoul' s  arm,  and  the 

7 


98  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

young  man  assumed  a  respectful  and  distant  attitude 
as  if  he  had  just  met  her;  he  accompanied  her,  with 
his  hat  off,  to  her  carriage,  then  he  followed  her  by  the 
Avenue  Charles  X.,  breathing  in,  with  satisfaction, 
the  very  dust  her  calèche  raised. 

In  spite  of  Marie's  high  renunciations,  Raoul  con- 
tinued to  follow  her  everywhere;  he  adored  the  air  of 
mingled  pleasure  and  displeasure  with  which  she 
scolded  him  for  wasting  his  precious  time.  She  took 
direction  of  his  labors,  she  gave  him  formal  orders  on 
the  employment  of  his  time;  she  stayed  at  home  to 
deprive  him  of  every  pretext  for  dissipation.  Every 
morning  she  read  his  paper,  and  became  the  herald  of 
his  staff  of  editors,  of  Etienne  Lousteau  the  feuille- 
tonist, whom  she  thought  delightful,  of  Félicien  Ver- 
nou,  of  Claude  Vignon,  — in  short,  of  the  whole  staff. 
She  advised  Raoul  to  do  justice  to  de  Marsay  when  he 
died,  and  she  read  with  deep  emotion  the  noble  eulogy 
which  Raoul  published  upon  the  dead  minister  while 
blaming  his  Machiavelianism  and  his  hatred  for  the 
masses.  She  was  present,  of  course,  at  the  Gymnase 
on  the  occasion  of  the  first  representation  of  the  play 
upon  the  proceeds  of  which  Nathan  relied  to  support 
his  enterprise,  and  was  completely  duped  by  the  pur- 
chased applause. 

"You  did  not  bid  farewell  to  the  Italian  opera," 
said  Lady  Dudley,  to  whose  house  she  went  after 
the  performance. 

"No,  I  went  to  the  Gymnase.  They  gave  a  first 
representation." 

"I  can't  endure  vaudevilles.  I  am  like  Louis  XIV. 
about  Teniers,"  said  Lady  Dudley. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  99 


U" 


For  my  part,"  said  Madame  d'Espard,  "I  think 
actors  have  greatly  improved.  Vaudevilles  in  the 
present  day  are  really  charming  comedies,  full  of  wit, 
requiring  great  talent;  they  amuse  me  very  much." 

"The  actors  are  excellent,  too,"  said  Marie. 
"Those  at  the  Gymnase  played  very  well  to-night;  the 
piece  pleased  them;  the  dialogue  was  witty  and 
keen." 

"Like  those  of  Beaumarchais,"  said  Lady  Dudley. 

"Monsieur  Nathan  is  not  Molière  as  yet,  but-^" 
said  Madame  d'Espard,  looking  at  the  countess. 

"He  makes  vaudevilles,"  said  Madame  Charles  de 
Vandenesse. 

"And  unmakes  ministries,"  added  Madame  de 
Manerville. 

The  countess  was  silent;  she  wanted  to  answer  with 
a  sharp  repartee;  her  heart  was  bounding  with  anger, 
but  she  could  find  nothing  better  to  say  than,  — 

"He  will  make    them,   perhaps." 

All  the  women  looked  at  each  other  with  mysterious 
significance.     When   Marie  de  Vandenesse    departed 
Moina  de  Saint-Héren  exclaimed  :  — 
'    "She  adores  him." 

"And  she  makes  no  secret  of  it,"  said  Madame 
d'Espard. 


100  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 


VII. 


SUICIDE. 


In  the  month  of  May  Vandenesse  took  his  wife,  as 
usual,  to  their  countryrseat,  where  she  was  consoled 
by  the  passionate  letters  she  received  from  Raoul,  to 
whom  she  wrote  every  day. 

Marie's  absence  might  have  saved  Raoul  from  the 
gulf  into  which  he  was  falling,  if  Florine  had  been 
near  him;  but,  unfortunately,  he  was  alone  in  the 
midst  of  friends  who  had  become  his  enemies  from 
the  moment  that  he  showed  his  intention  of  ruling 
them.  His  staff  of  writers  hated  him  pro  tern.,  ready 
to  hold  out  a  hand  to  him  and  console  him  in  case  of 
a  fall,  ready  to  adore  him  in  case  of  success.  So 
goes  the  world  of  literature.  No  one  is  really  liked 
but  an  inferior.  Every  man's  hand  is  against  him 
who  is  likely  to  rise.  This  wide-spread  envy  doubles 
the  chances  of  common  minds  who  excite  neither 
envy  nor  suspicion,  who  make  their  way  like  moles, 
and,  fools  though  they  be,  find  themselves  gazetted  in 
the  "Moniteur,"  for  three  or  four  places,  while  men 
of  talent  are  still  struggling  at  the  door  to  keep  each 
other  out. 

The  underhand  enmity  of  these  pretended  friends, 
which  Florine  would  have  scented  with  the  innate 
faculty  of  a  courtesan  to  get  at  truth  amid  a  thousand 


A  Daughter  of  Une.  101 

misleading  circumstances,  ?ras,  by  nQ.nieapî  Raoul's 
greatest  danger.  His  partant»  i  Ma^^cl  -tila  lawyer, 
and  du  Tillet  the  banker,  had  intended  from  the  first 
to  harness  his  ardor  to  the  chariot  of  their  own  impor- 
tance and  get  rid  of  him  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of 
condition  to  feed  the  paper,  or  else  to  deprive  him  of 
his  power,  arbitrarily,  whenever  it  suited  their  purpose 
to  take  it.  To  them  Nathan  represented  a  certain 
amount  of  talent  to  use  up,  a  literary  force  of  the 
motive  power  of  ten  pens  to  employ.  Massol,  one  of 
those  lawyers  who  mistake  the  faculty  of  endless 
speech  for  eloquence,  who  possess  the  art  of  boring  by 
diffusiveness,  the  torment  of  all  meetings  and  assem- 
blies where  they  belittle  everything,  and  who  desire  to 
become  personages  at  any  cost,  —  Massol  no  longer 
wanted  the  place  as  Keeper  of  the  Seals  ;  he  had  seen 
some  five  or  six  different  men  go  through  that  office 
in  four  years,  and  the  robes  disgusted  him.  In 
exchange,  his  mind  was  now  set  on  obtaining  a  chair 
on  the  Board  of  Education  and  a  place  in  the  Council 
of  State;  the  whole  adorned  with  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  honor.  Du  Tillet  and  Nucingen  had  guar- 
anteed the  cross  to  him,  and  the  office  of  Master  of 
Petitions  provided  he  obeyed  them  blindly. 

The  better  to  deceive  Raoul,  these  men  allowed  him 
to  manage  the  paper  without  control.  Du  Tillet  used 
it  only  for  his  stock-gambling,  about  which  Nathan 
understood  next  to  nothing  ;  but  he  had  given,  through 
Nucingen,  an  assurance  to  Rastignac  that  the  paper 
would  be  tacitly  obliging  to  the  government  on  the  sole 
condition  of  supporting  his  candidacy  for  Monsieur  de 
Nucingen's  place  as  soon  as  he  was  nominated  peer 


102  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

of  Frenct;.  Raoul  was  thus  being  undermined  by  the 
banker  and  the  lawyei,  who  saw  him  with  much  satis- 
faction lording  it  in  the  newspaper,  profiting  by  all 
advantages,  and  harvesting  the  fruits  of  self-love, 
while  Nathan,  enchanted,  believed  them  to  be,  as  on 
the  occasion  of  his  equestrian  wants,  the  best  fellows 
in  the  world.  He  thought  he  managed  them  !  Men  of 
imagination,  to  whom  hope  is  the  basis  of  existence, 
never  allow  themselves  to  know  that  the  most  perilous 
moment  in  their  affairs  is  that  when  all  seems  going 
well  according  to  their  wishes. 

This  was  a  period  of  triumph  by  which  Nathan 
profited.  He  appeared  as  a  personage  in  the  world, 
political  and  financial.  Du  Tillet  presented  him  to  the 
Nucingens.  Madame  de  Nucingen  received  him  cor- 
dially, less  for  himself  than  for  Madame  de  Vande- 
nesse;  but  when  she  ventured  a  few  words  about  the 
countess  he  thought  himself  marvellously  clever  in 
using  Florine  as  a  shield;  he  alluded  to  his  relations 
with  the  actress  in  a  tone  of  generous  self-conceit. 
How  could  he  desert  a  great  devotion,  for  the  coquet- 
ries of  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain  ? 

Nathan,  manipulated  by  Nucingen  and  Rastignac, 
by  du  Tillet  and  Blondet,  gave  his  support  ostenta- 
tiously to  the  doctrinaires  of  their  new  and  ephemeral 
cabinet.  But  in  order  to  show  himself  pure  of  all 
bribery  he  refused  to  take  advantage  of  certain  profit- 
able enterprises  which  were  started  by  means  of  his 
paper,  — he!  who  had  no  reluctance  in  compromising 
friends  or  in  behaving  with  little  decency  to  mechan- 
ics under  certain  circumstances.  Such  meannesses, 
the  result  of  vanity  and  of  ambition,  are  found  in  many 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  103 

lives  like  his.  The  mantle  must  be  splendid  before 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  we  steal  our  friend's  or  a 
poor  man's  cloth  to  patch  it. 

Nevertheless,  two  months  after  the  departure  of  the 
countess,  Raoul  had  a  certain  Rabelaisian  quart 
d* heure  which  caused  him  some  anxiety  in  the  midst 
of  these  triumphs.  Du  Tillet  had  advanced  a  hundred 
thousand  francs,  Florine's  money  had  gone  in  the  costs 
of  the  first  establishment  of  the  paper,  which  were 
enormous.  It  was  necessary  to  provide  for  the  future. 
The  banker  agreed  to  let  the  editor  have  fifty  thousand 
francs  on  notes  for  four  months.  Du  Tillet  thus  held 
Raoul  by  the  halter  of  an  I  O  U.  By  means  of  this 
relief  the  funds  of  the  paper  were  secured  for  six 
months.  In  the  eyes  of  some  writers  six  months  is 
an  eternity.  Besides,  by  dint  of  advertising  and  by 
offering  illusory  advantages  to  subscribers  two  thou- 
sand had  been  secured  ;  an  influx  of  travellers  added  to 
this  semi-success,  which  was  enough,  perhaps,  to 
excuse  the  throwing  of  more  bank-bills  after  the  rest. 
A  little  more  display  of  talent,  a  timely  political 
trial  or  crisis,  an  apparent  persecution,  and  Raoul  felt 
certain  of  becoming  one  of  those  modern  condottieri 
whose  ink  is  worth  more  than  the  powder  and  shot  of 
the  olden  time. 

This  loan  from  du  Tillet  was  already  made  when 
Florine  returned  with  fifty  thousand  francs.  Instead 
of  creating  a  savings  fund  with  that  sum,  Raoul,  cer- 
tain of  success  (simply  because  he  felt  it  was  neces- 
sary), and  already  humiliated  at  having  accepted  the 
actress's  money,  deceived  Florine  as  to  his  actual  posi- 
tion, and  persuaded  her  to  employ  the  money  in  refur- 


104  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

nishing  her  house.  The  actress,  who  did  not  need 
persuasion,  not  only  spent  the  sum  in  hand,  but  she 
burdened  herself  with  a  debt  of  thirty  thousand  francs, 
with  which  she  obtained  a  charming  little  house  all  to 
herself  in  the  rue  Pigale,  whither  her  old  society  re- 
sorted. Raoul  had  reserved  the  production  of  his 
great  piece,  in  which  was  a  part  especially  suited  to 
Florine,  until  her  return.  This  comedy-vaudeville 
was  to  be  Raoul' s  farewell  to  the  stage.  The  news- 
papers, with  that  good  nature  which  costs  nothing,  pre- 
pared the  way  for  such  an  ovation  to  Florine  that  even 
the  Théâtre-Français  talked  of  engaging  her.  The 
feuilletons  proclaimed  her  the  heiress  of  Mars. 

This  triumph  was  sufficiently  dazzling  to  prevent 
Florine  from  carefully  studying  the  ground  on  which 
Nathan  was  advancing;  she  lived,  for  the  time  being, 
in  a  round  of  festivities  and  glory.  According  to 
those  about  her,  he  was  now  a  great  political  charac- 
ter ;  he  was  justified  in  his  enterprise  ;  he  would  cer- 
tainly be  a  deputy,  probably  a  minister  in  course  of 
time,  like  so  many  others.  As  for  Nathan  himself,  he 
firmly  believed  that  at  the  next  session  of  the  Chamber 
he  should  find  himself  in  the  government  with  two 
other  journalists,  one  of  whom,  already  a  minister, 
was  anxious  to  associate  some  of  his  own  craft  with 
himself,  and  so  consolidate  his  power.  After  a  sepa- 
ration of  six  months,  Nathan  met  Florine  again  with 
pleasure,  and  returned  easily  to  his  old  way  of  life. 
All  his  comforts  came  from  the  actress,  but  he  em- 
broidered the  heavy  tissue  of  his  life  with  the  flowers 
of  ideal  passion;  his  letters  to  Marie  were  master- 
pieces of  grace  and  style.     Nathan  made  her  the  light 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  1C5 

of  his  life;  he  undertook . nothing  without  consulting 
his  "guardian  angel."  In  despair  at  being  on  the 
popular  side,  he  talked  of  going  over  to  that  of  the 
aristocracy;  but,  in  spite  of  his  habitual  agility,  even 
he  saw  the  absolute  impossibility  of  such  a  jump  ;  it 
was  easier  to  become  a  minister.  Marie's  precious 
replies  were  deposited  in  one  of  those  portfolios  with 
patent  locks  made  by  Huret  or  Fichet,  two  mechanics 
who  were  then  waging  war  in  advertisements  and  pos- 
ters all  over  Paris,  as  to  which  could  make  the  safest 
and  most  impenetrable  locks. 

This  portfolio  was  left  about  in  Florine's  new  bou- 
doir, where  Nathan  did  much  of  his  work.  No  one  is 
easier  to  deceive  than  a  woman  to  whom  a  man  is  in 
the  habit  of  telling  everything;  she  has  no  suspicions; 
she  thinks  she  sees  and  hears  and  knows  all.  Besides, 
since  her  return,  Nathan  had  led  the  most  regular  of 
lives  under  her  very  nose.  Never  did  she  imagine 
that  that  portfolio,  which  she  hardly  glanced  at  as  it 
lay  there  unconcealed,  contained  the  letters  of  a  rival, 
treasures  of  admiring  love  which  the  countess  addressed, 
at  Raoul's  request,  to  the  office  of  his  newspaper. 

Nathan's  situation  was,  therefore,  to  all  appearance, 
extremely  brilliant.  He  had  many  friends.  The  two 
plays  lately  produced  had  succeeded  well,  and  their 
proceeds  supplied  his  personal  wants  and  relieved  him 
of  all  care  for  the  future.  His  debt  to  du  Tillet,  "his 
friend,"  did  not  make  him  in  the  least  uneasy. 

"Why  distrust  a  friend?"  he  said  to  Blondet,  who 
from  time  to  time  would  cast  a  doubt  on  his  position, 
led  to  do  so  by  his  general  habit  of  analyzing. 

"But  we  don't  need  to  distrust  our  enemies,"  re- 
marked Florine. 


106  A  Laughter  of  Eve. 

Nathan  defended  du  Tillet;  he  was  the  best,  the 
most  upright  of  men. 

This  existence,  which  was  really  that  of  a  dancer 
on  the  tight  rope  without  his  balance-pole,  would 
have  alarmed  any  one,  even  the  most  indifferent,  had 
it  been  seen  as  it  really  was.  Du  Tillet  watched  it 
with  the  cool  eye  and  the  cynicism  of  a  parvenu. 
Through  the  friendly  good  humor  of  his  intercourse 
with  Raoul  there  flashed  now  and  then  a  malignant 
jeer.  One  day,  after  pressing  his  hand  in  Florine's 
boudoir  and  watching  him  as  he  got  into  his  car- 
riage, du  Tillet  remarked  to  Lousteau  (envier  par 
excellence)  :  — 

"That  fellow  is  off  to  the  Bois  in  fine  style  to-day, 
but  he  is  just  as  likely,  six  months  hence,  to  be  in  a 
debtor's  prison." 

"He?  never!"  cried  Lousteau.     "He  has  Florine." 

"How  do  you  know  that  he  '11  keep  her?  As  for  you, 
who  are  worth  a  dozen  of  him,  I  predict  that  you  will 
be  our  editor-in-chief  within  six  months." 

In  October  Nathan's  notes  to  du  Tillet  fell  due,  and 
the  banker  graciously  renewed  them,  but  for  two  months 
only,  with  the  discount  added  and  a  fresh  loan.  Sure 
of  victory,  Raoul  was  not  afraid  of  continuing  to  put 
his  hand  in  the  bag.  Madame  Félix  de  Vandenesse 
was  to  return  in  a  few  days,  a  month  earlier  than 
usual,  brought  back,  of  course,  by  her  unconquerable 
desire  to  see  Nathan,  who  felt  that  he  could  not  be 
short  of  money  at  a  time  when  he  renewed  that  assidu- 
ous life. 

Correspondence,  in  which  the  pen  is  always  bolder 
than  speech,  and  thought,  wreathing  itself  with  flowers, 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  107 

allows  itself  to  be  seen  without  disguise,  had  brought 
the  countess  to  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm.  She 
believed  she  saw  in  Raoul  one  of  the  noblest  spirits 
of  the  epoch,  a  delicate  but  misjudged  heart  without  a 
stain  and  worthy  of  adoration;  she  saw  him  advanc- 
ing with  a  brave  hand  to  grasp  the  sceptre  of  power. 
Soon  that  speech  so  beautiful  in  love  would  echo  from 
the  tribune.  Marie  now  lived  only  in  this  life  of  a 
world  outside  her  own.  Her  taste  was  lost  for  the 
tranquil  joys  of  home,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to  the 
agitations  of  this  whirlwind  life  communicated  by  a 
clever  and  adoring  pen.  She  kissed  Raoul's  letters, 
written  in  the  midst  of  the  ceaseless  battles  of  the 
press,  with  time  taken  from  necessary  studies  ;  she  felt 
their  value  ;  she  was  certain  of  being  loved,  and  loved 
only,  with  no  rival  but  the  fame  and  the  ambition 
he  adored.  She  found  enough  in  her  country  solitude 
to  fill  her  soul  and  employ  all  her  faculties,  —  happy, 
indeed,  to  have  been  so  chosen  by  such  a  man,  who  to 
her  was  an  angel. 

During  the  last  days  of  autumn  Marie  and  Raoul 
again  met  and  renewed  their  walks  in  the  Bois,  where 
alone  they  could  see  each  other  until  the  salons  re- 
opened. But  when  the  winter  fairly  began,  Raoul 
appeared  in  social  life  at  his  apogee.  He  was  almost 
a  personage.  Rastignac,  now  out  of  power  with  the 
ministry,  which  went  to  pieces  on  the  death  of  de 
Marsay,  leaned  upon  Nathan,  and  gave  him  in  return 
the  warmest  praise.  Madame  de  Vandenesse,  feeling 
this  change  in  public  opinion,  was  desirous  of  knowing 
if  her  husband's  judgment  had  altered  also.  She 
questioned    him    again;    perhaps   with   the   hope   of 


108  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

obtaining  one  of  those  brilliant  revenges  which  please 
all  women,  even  the  noblest  and  least  worldly,  —  for 
may  we  not  believe  that  even  the  angels  retain  some 
portion  of  their  self-love  as  they  gather  in  serried 
ranks  before  the  Holy  of  Holies  ? 

"Nothing  was  wanting  to  Raoul  Nathan  but  to  be 
the  dupe  he  now  is  to  a  parcel  of  intriguing  sharpers," 
replied  the  count. 

Félix,  whose  knowledge  of  the  world  and  politics 
enabled  him  to  judge  clearly,  had  seen  Nathan's  true 
position.  He  explained  to  his  wife  that  Fieschi's 
attempt  had  resulted  in  attaching  to  the  interests 
threatened  by  this  attack  on  Louis-Philippe  a  large 
body  of  hitherto  lukewarm  persons.  The  newspapers 
which  were  non-committal,  and  did  not  show  their 
colors,  would  lose  subscribers;  for  journalism,  like 
politics,  was  about  to  be  simplified  by  falling  into 
regular  lines.  If  Nathan  had  put  his  whole  fortune 
into  that  newspaper  he  would  lose  it.  This  judgment, 
so  apparently  just  and  clear-cut,  though  brief  and 
given  by  a  man  who  fathomed  a  matter  in  which  he 
had  no  interest,  alarmed  Madame  de  Vandenesse. 

"Do  you  take  an  interest  in  him?  "  asked  her  hus- 
band. 

4 'Only  as  a  man  whose  mind  interests  me  and  whose 
conversation  I  like." 

This  reply  was  made  so  naturally  that  the  count 
suspected  nothing. 

The  next  day  at  four  o'clock,  Marie  and  Raoul  had 
a  long  conversation  together,  in  a  low  voice,  in 
Madame  d'Espard's  salon.  The  countess  expressed 
fears   which   Raoul    dissipated,    only    too    happy   to 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  109 

destroy  by  epigrams  the  conjugal  judgment.  Nathan 
had  a  revenge  to  take.  He  characterized  the  count  as 
narrow-minded,  behind  the  age,  a  man  who  judged  the 
revolution  of  July  with  the  eyes  of  the  Restoration, 
who  would  never  be  willing  to  admit  the  triumph  of 
the  middle-classes  —  the  new  force  of  all  societies, 
whether  temporary  or  lasting,  but  a  real  force.  In- 
stead of  turning  his  mind  to  the  study  of  an  opinion 
given  impartially  and  incidentally  by  a  man  well- 
versed  in  politics,  Raoul  mounted  his  stilts  and  stalked 
about  in  the  purple  of  his  own  glory.  Where  is  the 
woman  who  would  not  have  believed  his  glowing  talk 
sooner  than  the  cold  logic  of  her  husband?  Madame 
de  Vandenesse,  completely  reassured,  returned  to  her 
life  of  little  enjoyments,  clandestine  pressures  of  the 
hand,  occasional  quarrels,  —  in  short,  to  her  nourish- 
ment of  the  year  before,  harmless  in  itself,  but  likely 
to  drag  a  woman  over  the  border  if  the  man  she  favors 
is  resolute  and  impatient  of  obstacles.  Happily  for 
her,  Nathan  was  not  dangerous.  Besides,  he  was  too 
full  of  his  immediate  self-interests  to  think  at  this 
time  of  profiting  by  his  love. 

But  toward  the  end  of  December,  when  the  second 
notes  fell  due,  du  Tillet  demanded  payment.  The  rich 
banker,  who  said  he  was  embarrassed,  advised  Raoul  to 
borrow  the  money  for  a  short  time  from  a  usurer,  from 
Gigonnet,  the  providence  of  all  young  men  who  were 
pressed  for  money.  In  January,  he  remarked,  the  re- 
newal of  subscriptions  to  the  paper  would  be  coming 
in,  there  would  be  plenty  of  money  in  hand,  and  they 
could  then  see  what  had  best  be  done.  Besides, 
couldn't  Nathan  write  a  play?     As  a  matter  of  pride 


110  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

Raoul  determined  to  pay  off  the  notes  at  once.  Du 
Tillet  gave  Raoul  a  letter  to  Gigonnet,  who  counted 
out  the  money  on  a  note  of  Nathan's  at  twenty  days' 
sight.  Instead  of  asking  himself  the  reason  of  such 
unusual  facility,  Raoul  felt  vexed  at  his  folly  in  not 
having  asked  for  more.  That  is  how  men  who  are 
really  remarkable  for  the  power  of  thought  are  apt 
to  behave  in  practical  business;  they  seem  to  reserve 
the  power  of  their  mind  for  their  writings,  and  are  fear- 
ful of  lessening  it  by  putting  it  to  use  in  the  daily 
affairs  of  life. 

Raoul  related  his  morning  to  Florine  and  Blond  et. 
He  gave  them  an  inimitable  sketch  of  Gigonnet,  his 
fireplace  without  fire,  his  shabby  wall-paper,  his  stair- 
way, his  asthmatic  bell,  his  aged  straw  mattress,  his 
den  without  warmth,  like  his  eye.  He  made  them 
laugh  about  this  new  uncle;  they  neither  troubled 
themselves  about  du  Tillet  and  his  pretended  want  of 
money,  nor  about  an  old  usurer  so  ready  to  disburse. 
What  was  there  to  worry  about  in  that? 

"He  has  only  asked  you  fifteen  per  cent,"  said  Blon- 
det;  "you  ought  to  be  grateful  to  him.  At  twenty- 
five  per  cent  you  don't  bow  to  those  old  fellows.  This 
is  money-lending  ;  usury  does  n't  begin  till  fifty  per 
cent;  and  then  you  despise  the  usurer." 

"Despise  him!"  cried  Florine;  "if  any  of  your 
friends  lent  you  the  money  at  that  price  they  'd  pose  as 
your  benefactors." 

"She  is  right;  and  I  am  glad  I  don't  owe  anything 
now  to  du  Tillet,"  said  Raoul. 

Why  this  lack  of  penetration  as  to  their  personal 
affairs   in  men  whose  business  it  is  to  penetrate  all 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  Ill 

things?  Perhaps  the  mind  cannot  be  complete  at  all 
points  ;  perhaps  artists  of  every  kind  live  too  much  in 
the  present  moment  to  study  the  future;  perhaps  they 
are  too  observant  of  the  ridiculous  to  notice  snares, 
or  they  may  believe  that  none  would  dare  to  lay  a 
snare  for  such  as  they.  However  this  may  be,  the 
future  arrived  in  due  time.  Twenty  days  later 
Raoul' s  notes  were  protested,  but  Florine  obtained 
from  the  Court  of  commerce  an  extension  of  twenty- 
five  days  in  which  to  meet  them.  Thus  pressed,  Raoul 
looked  into  his  affairs  and  asked  for  the  accounts,  and 
it  then  appeared  that  the  receipts  of  the  newspaper 
covered  only  two-thirds  of  the  expenses,  while  the 
subscriptions  were  rapidly  dwindling.  The  great 
man  now  grew  anxious  and  gloomy,  but  to  Florine 
only,  in  whom  he  confided.  She  advised  him  to  bor- 
row money  on  unwritten  plays,  and  write  them  at 
once,  giving  a  lien  on  his  work.  Nathan  followed  this 
advice  and  obtained  thereby  twenty  thousand  francs, 
which  reduced  his  debt  to  forty  thousand. 

On  the  10th  of  February  the  twenty-five  days 
expired.  Du  Tillet,  who  did  not  want  Nathan  as  a 
rival  before  the  electoral  college,  where  he  meant  to 
appear  himself,  instigated  Gigonnet  to  sue  Nathan 
without  compromise.  A  man  locked  up  for  debt 
could  not  present  himself  as  a  candidate  for  election. 
Florine  was  herself  in  communication  with  the  sheriff 
on  the  subject  of  her  personal  debts,  and  no  resource 
was  left  to  her  but  the  "  I  "  of  Medea,  for  her  new  fur- 
niture and  belongings  were  now  attached.  The  ambi- 
tious Raoul  heard  the  cracking  in  all  directions  of  his 
prosperous  edifice,  built,  alas!    without   foundations. 


112  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

His  nerve  failed  him;  too  weak  already  to  sustain  so 
vast  an  enterprise,  he  felt  himself  incapable  of 
attempting  to  build  it  up  again  ;  he  was  fated  to  perish 
in  its  ashes.  Love  for  the  countess  gave  him  still  a 
few  thrills  of  life;  his  mask  brightened  for  a  moment, 
but  behind  it  hope  was  dead.  He  did  not  suspect  the 
hand  of  du  Tillet,  and  laid  the  blame  of  his  misfor- 
tunes on  the  usurer.  Rastignac,  Blondet,  Lousteau, 
Vernou,  Finot,  and  Massol  took  care  not  to  enlighten 
him.  Rastignac,  who  wanted  to  return  to  power, 
made  common  cause  with  Nucingen  and  du  Tillet. 
The  others  felt  a  satisfaction  in  the  catastrophe  of  an 
equal  who  had  attempted  to  make  himself  their  master. 
None  of  them,  however,  would  have  said  a  word  to 
Florine;  on  the  contrary,  they  praised  Raoul  to  her. 

"Nathan,"  they  said,  "has  the  shoulders  of  Atlas; 
he  '11  pull  himself  through;  all  will  come  right." 

"There  were  two  new  subscribers  yesterday,"  said 
Blondet,  gravely.  "  Raoul  will  certainly  be  elected 
deputy.  As  soon  as  the  budget  is  voted  the  dissolu- 
tion is  sure  to  take  place." 

But  Nathan,  sued,  could  no  longer  obtain  even 
usury;  Florine,  with  all  her  personal  property  at- 
tached, could  count  on  nothing  but  inspiring  a  pas- 
sion in  some  fool  who  might  not  appear  at  the  right 
moment.  Nathan's  friends  were  all  men  without 
money  and  without  credit.  An  arrest  for  debt  would 
destroy  his  hopes  of  a  political  career;  and  besides  all 
this,  he  had  bound  himself  to  do  an  immense  amount 
of  dramatic  work  for  which  he  had  already  received 
payment.  He  could  see  no  bottom  to  the  gulf  of 
misery  that  lay  before  him,  into  which  he  was  about 


A  Daughter  of  JSve.  113 

to  roll.  In  presence  of  such  threatened  evil  his  bold- 
ness deserted  him.  Would  the  Comtesse  de  Vande- 
nesse  stand  by  him?  Would  she  fly  with  him? 
Women  are  never  led  into  a  gulf  of  that  kind  except 
by  an  absolute  love,  and  the  love  of  Raoul  and  Marie 
had  not  bound  them  together  by  the  mysterious  and 
inalienable  ties  of  happiness.  But  supposing  that  the 
countess  did  follow  him  to  some  foreign  country;  she 
would  come  without  fortune,  despoiled  of  everything, 
and  then,  alas!  she  would  merely  be  one  more  embar- 
rassment to  him.  A  mind  of  a  second  order,  and  a 
proud  mind  like  that  of  Nathan,  would  be  likely  to 
see,  under  these  circumstances,  and  did  see,  in  suicide 
the  sword  to  cut  the  Gordian  knots.  The  idea  of  fail- 
ure in  the  face  of  the  world  and  that  society  he  had  so 
lately  entered  and  meant  to  rule,  of  leaving  the  chariot 
of  the  countess  and  becoming  once  more  a  muddied 
pedestrian,  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  Madness 
began  to  dance  and  whirl  and  shake  her  bells  at  the 
gates  of  the  fantastic  palace  in  which  the  poet  had  been 
dreaming.  In  this  extremity,  Nathan  waited  for  some 
lucky  accident,  determined  not  to  kill  himself  until 
the  final  moment. 

During  the  last  days  employed  by  the  legal  formal- 
ities required  before  proceeding  to  arrest  for  debt, 
Raoul  went  about,  in  spite  of  himself,  with  that  coldly 
sullen  and  morose  expression  of  face  which  may  be 
noticed  in  persons  who  are  either  fated  to  commit 
suicide  or  are  meditating  it.  The  funereal  ideas  they 
are  turning  over  in  their  minds  appear  upon  their  fore- 
heads in  gray  and  cloudy  tints,  their  smile  has  some- 
thing fatalistic  in  it,  their  motions  are  solemn.     These 

8 


114  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

unhappy  beings  seem  to  want  to  suck  the  last  juices 
of  the  life  they  mean  to  leave  ;  their  eyes  see  things 
invisible,  their  ears  are  listening  to  a  death-knell,  they 
pay  no  attention  to  the  minor  things  about  them. 
These  alarming  symptoms  Marie  perceived  one  even- 
ing at  Lady  Dudley's.  Raoul  was  sittiug  apart  on  a 
sofa  in  the  boudoir,  while  the  rest  of  the  company 
were  conversing  in  the  salon.  The  countess  went  to 
the  door,  but  he  did  not  raise  his  head;  he  heard 
neither  Marie's  breathing  nor  the  rustle  of  her  silk 
dress;  he  was  gazing  at  a  flower  in  the  carpet,  with 
fixed  eyes,  stupid  with  grief;  he  felt  he  had  rather 
die  than  abdicate.  All  the  world  can't  have  the  rock 
of  Saint  Helena  for  a  pedestal.  Moreover,  suicide 
was  then  the  fashion  in  Paris.  Is  it  not,  in  fact,  the 
last  resource  of  all  atheistical  societies?  Raoul,  as 
he  sat  there,  had  decided  that  the  moment  had  come  to 
die.  Despair  is  in  proportion  to  our  hopes;  that  of 
Raoul  had  no  other  issue  than  the  grave. 

"What  is  the  matter?  "  cried  Marie,  flying  to  him. 

"Nothing,"  he  answered. 

There  is  one  way  of  saying  that  word  nothing  be- 
tween lovers  which  signifies  its  exact  contrary. 
Marie  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"You  are  a  child,"  she  said.  "Some  misfortune  has 
happened  to  you." 

"No,  not  to  me,"  he  replied.  "But  you  will  know 
all  soon  enough,  Marie,"  he  added,  affectionately. 

"What  were  you  thinking  of  when  I  came  in?  "  she 
asked,  in  a  tone  of  authority. 

"Do  you  want  to  know  the  truth?"  She  nodded. 
"I  was  thinking  of  you;  I  was  saying  to  myself  that 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  115 

most  men  in  my  place  would  have  wanted  to  be  loved 
without  reserve.     I  am  loved,  am  1  not?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

"And  yet,"  he  said,  taking  her  round  the  waist  and 
kissing  her  forehead  at  the  risk  of  being  seen,  "I 
leave  you  pure  and  without  remorse.  I  could  have 
dragged  you  into  an  abyss,  but  you  remain  in  all  your 
glory  on  its  brink  without  a  stain.  Yet  one  thought 
troubles  me  —  " 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"You  will  despise  me."  She  smiled  superbly. 
"Yes,  you  will  never  believe  that  I  have  sacredly  loved 
you;  I  shall  be  disgraced,  I  know  that.  Women 
never  imagine  that  from  the  depths  of  our  mire  we 
raise  our  eyes  to  heaven  and  truly  adore  a  Marie. 
They  assail  that  sacred  love  with  miserable  doubts; 
they  cannot  believe  that  men  of  intellect  and  poesy  can 
so  detach  their  soul  from  earthly  enjoyment  as  to  lay 
it  pure  upon  some  cherished  altar.  And  yet,  Marie, 
the  worship  of  the  ideal  is  more  fervent  in  men  than 
in  women  ;  we  find  it  in  women,  who  do  not  even  look 
for  it  in  us." 

"Why  are  you  making  me  that  article?"  she  said, 
jestingly. 

"I  am  leaving  France;  you  will  hear  to-morrow,  how 
and  why,  from  a  letter  my  valet  will  bring  you. 
Adieu,  Marie." 

Raoul  left  the  house  after  again  straining  the  coun- 
tess to  his  heart  with  dreadful  pressure,  leaving  her 
stupefied  and  distressed. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  dear?"  said  Madame 
d'Espard,  coming  to  look  for  her.     "What  has  Mon- 


116  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

sieur  Nathan  been  saying  to  you?  He  lias  just  left  us 
in  a  most  melodramatic  way.  Perhaps  you  are  too 
reasonable  or  too  unreasonable  with  him." 

The  countess  followed  Madame  d'Espard  back  into 
the  salon,  but  she  left  the  house  a  few  moments  later, 
and  returned  home  a  prey  to  an  anxiety  that  was 
wholly  undefined.  Unable  to  sleep,  she  passed  the 
night  in  reading  a  journey  to  the  North  Pole,  of 
which  she  understood  absolutely  nothing.  At  half- 
past  eight  in  the  morning  she  received  a  letter  from 
Raoul  and  tore  it  open.  The  letter  began  with  the 
classic  words  :  — 

"My  dear,  beloved  Marie,  when  you  hold  this  paper 
in  your  hand  I  shall  be  no  more  —  " 

She  read  no  farther,  but  crumpled  up  the  letter  in 
her  nervous  clasp,  rang  for  her  maid,  slipped  on  a 
morning-gown  and  the  first  shoes  she  could  find  ;  put 
on  a  bonnet  and  shawl  and  left  the  room,  telling  her 
maid  to  say  to  the  count  that  she  had  gone  to  see  her 
sister,  Madame  du  Tillet. 

"Where  did  you  leave  your  master?"  she  said  to 
Raoul' s  servant. 

"At  his  office,"  replied  the  man. 

"Let  us  go  there,"  she  said.     "Come." 

To  the  astonishment  of  her  household  she  left  the 
house  on  foot  before  nine  o'clock,  evidently  almost 
beside  herself.  Fortunately  the  maid  went  at  once  to 
the  count  and  told  him  that  her  mistress  had  received 
a  letter  from  Madame  du  Tillet  which  seemed  to  have 
distressed  her  very  much,  and  that  she  had  gone  out 
instantly,  accompanied  by  the  servant  who  brought 
the  letter.     Vandenesse  therefore  felt  no  uneasiness, 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  117 

and  awaited  his  wife's  return  to  receive  her  explana- 
tions. 

The  countess  got  into  a  hackney-coach  and  was 
driven  rapidly  to  the  newspaper  offices.  At  that  hour 
the  huge  apartments  which  they  occupied  in  an  old 
mansion  in  the  rue  Feydeau  were  deserted  ;  not  a  soul 
was  there  but  the  watchman,  who  was  greatly  surprised 
to  see  a  young  and  pretty  woman  hurrying  through  the 
rooms  in  evident  distress.  She  asked  him  to  tell  her 
where  was  Monsieur  Nathan. 

"At  Mademoiselle  Florine's,  probably,"  replied  the 
man,  taking  Marie  for  a  rival  who  intended  to  make 
a  scene. 

"Where  does  he  work?" 

"In  his  office,  the  key  of  which  he  carries  in  his 
pocket." 

"I  wish  to  go  there." 

The  man  took  her  to  a  dark  little  room  looking  out 
on  a  rear  court-yard.  The  office  was  at  right  angles. 
Opening  the  window  of  the  room  she  was  in,  the 
countess  could  look  through  into  the  window  of  the 
office,  and  she  saw  Nathan  sitting  there  in  the  edito- 
rial arm-chair. 

"  Break  in  the  door,  and  be  silent  about  all  this; 
I'll  pay  you  well,"  she  said.  "Don't  you  see  that 
Monsieur  Nathan  is  dying  ?  " 

The  man  got  an  iron  bar  from  the  press-room,  with 
which  he  burst  in  the  door.  Raoul  had  actually 
smothered  himself,  like  any  poor  work-girl,  with  a  pan 
of  charcoal.  He  had  written  a  letter  to  Blondet,  which 
lay  on  the  table,  in  which  he  asked  him  to  ascribe  his 
death    to    apoplexy.      The    countess,    however,    had 


118  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

arrived  in  time;  she  had  Raoul  carried  to  her  coach, 
and  then,  not  knowing  where  else  to  care  for  him,  she 
took  him  to  a  hotel,  engaged  a  room,  and  sent  for  a 
doctor.  In  a  few  hours  Raoul  was  out  of  danger;  but 
the  countess  did  not  leave  him  until  she  had  obtained 
a  general  confession  of  the  causes  of  his  act.  When 
he  had  poured  into  her  heart  the  dreadful  elegy  of  his 
woes,  she  said,  in  order  to  make  him  willing  to  live:  — 

"I  can  arrange  all  that." 

But,  nevertheless,  she  returned  home  with  a  heart 
oppressed  with  the  same  anxieties  and  ideas  that  had 
darkened  Nathan's  brow  the  night  before. 

"Well,  what  was  the  matter  with  your  sister?  "  said 
Félix,  when  his  wife  returned.  "You  look  dis- 
tressed." 

"It  is  a  dreadful  history  about  which  I  am  bound  to 
secrecy,"  she  said,  summoning  all  her  nerve  to  appear 
calm  before  him. 

In  order  to  be  alone  and  to  think  at  her  ease,  she 
went  to  the  Opera  in  the  evening,  after  which  she 
resolved  to  go  (as  we  have  seen)  and  discharge  her 
heart  into  that  of  her  sister,  Madame  du  Tillet;  relat- 
ing to  her  the  horrible  scene  of  the  morning,  and  beg- 
ging her  advice  and  assistance.  Neither  the  one  nor 
the  other  could  then  know  that  du  Tillet  himself  had 
lighted  the  charcoal  of  the  vulgar  brazier,  the  sight  of 
which  had  so  justly  terrified  the  countess. 

"He  has  but  me  in  all  the  world,"  said  Marie  to  her 
sister,  "and  I  will  not  fail  him." 

That  speech  contains  the  secret  motive  of  most 
women  ;  they  can  be  heroic  when  they  are  certain  of 
being  all  in  all  to  a  grand  and  irreproachable  being. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  119 


VIII. 


A  LOVER  SAVED  AND  LOST. 


Du  Tillet  had  heard  some  talk  even  in  financial 
circles  of  the  more  or  less  possible  adoration  of  his 
sister-in-law  for  Nathan  ;  but  he  was  one  of  those  who 
denied  it,  thinking  it  incompatible  with  Raoul' s  known 
relations  with  Florine.  The  actress  would  certainly 
drive  off  the  countess,  or  vice  versa.  But  when,  on 
coming  home  that  evening,  he  found  his  sister-in-law 
with  a  perturbed  face,  in  consultation  with  his  wife 
about  money,  it  occurred  to  him  that  Raoul  had,  in  all 
probability,  confided  to  her  his  situation.  The  coun- 
tess must  therefore  love  him;  she  had  doubtless  come 
to  obtain  from  her  sister  the  sum  due  to  old  Gigonnet. 
Madame  du  Tillet,  unaware,  of  course,  of  the  reasons 
for  her  husband's  apparently  supernatural  penetration, 
had  shown  such  stupefaction  when  he  told  her  the  sum 
wanted,  that  du  Tillet's  suspicions  became  certainties. 
He  was  sure  now  that  he  held  the  thread  of  all 
Nathan's  possible  manœuvres. 

No  one  knew  that  the  unhappy  man  himself  was  in 
bed  in  a  small  hotel  in  the  rue  du  Mail,  under  the 
name  of  the  office  watchman,  to  whom  Marie  had  prom- 
ised five  hundred  francs  if  he  kept  silence  as  to  the 
events  of  the  preceding  night  and  morning.  Thus 
bribed,  the   man,  whose   name  was  François  Quillet, 


120  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

went  back  to  the  office  and  left  word  with  the  portress 
that  Monsieur  Nathan  had  been  taken  ill  in  conse- 
quence of  overwork,  and  was  resting.  Du  Tillet  was 
therefore  not  surprised  at  Raoul's  absence.  It  was 
natural  for  the  journalist  to  hide  under  any  such  pre- 
tence to  avoid  arrest.  When  the  sheriff's  spies  made 
inquiries  they  learned  that  a  lady  had  carried  him 
away  in  a  public  coach  early  in  the  morning;  but  it 
took  three  days  to  ferret  out  the  number  of  the  coach, 
question  the  driver,  and  find  the  hotel  where  the  debtor 
was  recovering  his  strength.  Thus  Marie's  prompt 
action  had  really  gained  for  Nathan  a  truce  of  four  days. 

Both  sisters  passed  a  cruel  night.  Such  a  catastro- 
phe casts  the  lurid  gleam  of  its  charcoal  over  the  whole 
of  life,  showing  reefs,  pools,  depths,  where  the  eye  has 
hitherto  seen  only  summits  and  grandeurs.  Struck  by 
the  horrible  picture  of  a  young  man  lying  back  in  his 
chair  to  die,  with  the  last  proofs  of  his  paper  before 
him,  containing  in  type  his  last  thoughts,  poor  Madame 
du  Tillet  could  think  of  nothing  else  than  how  to  save 
him  and  restore  a  life  so  precious  to  her  sister.  It  is 
the  nature  of  our  mind  to  see  effects  before  we  analyze 
their  causes.  Eugénie  recurred  to  her  first  idea  of 
consulting  Madame  Delphine  de  Nucingen,  with  whom 
she  was  to  dine,  and  she  resolved  to  make  the  attempt, 
not  doubting  of  success.  Generous,  like  all  persons 
who  are  not  bound  in  the  polished  steel  armor  of  mod- 
ern society,  Madame  du  Tillet  resolved  to  take  the 
whole  matter  upon  herself. 

The  countess,  on  the  other  hand,  happy  in  the 
thought  that  she  had  saved  Raoul's  life,  spent  the 
night  in  devising  means  to  obtain  the  forty  thousand 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  121 

francs.  In  emergencies  like  these  women  are  sub- 
lime; they  find  contrivances  which  would  astonish 
thieves,  business  men,  and  usurers,  if  those  three 
classes  of  industrials  were  capable  of  being  aston- 
ished. First,  the  countess  sold  her  diamonds  and 
decided  on  wearing  paste;  then  she  resolved  to  ask 
the  money  from  Vandenesse  on  her  sister's  account; 
but  these  were  dishonorable  means,  and  her  soul  was 
too  noble  not  to  recoil  at  them  ;  she  merely  conceived 
them,  and  cast  them  from  her.  Ask  money  of  Vande- 
nesse to  give  to  Nathan!  She  bounded  in  her  bed  with 
horror  at  such  baseness.  Wear  false  diamonds  to 
deceive  her  husband  !  Next  she  thought  of  borrowing 
the  money  from  the  Rothschilds,  who  had  so  much, 
or  from  the  archbishop  of  Paris,  whose  mission  it  was 
to  help  persons  in  distress  ;  darting  thus  from  thought 
to  thought,  seeking  help  in  all.  She  deplored  belong- 
ing to  a  class  opposed  to  the  government.  Formerly, 
she  could  easily  have  borrowed  the  money  on  the  steps 
of  the  throne.  She  thought  of  appealing  to  her  father, 
the  Comte  de  Granville.  But  that  great  magistrate 
had  a  horror  of  illegalities;  his  children  knew  how 
little  he  sympathized  with  the  trials  of  love;  he  was 
now  a  misanthrope  and  held  all  affairs  of  the  heart  in 
horror.  As  for  the  Comtesse  de  Granville,  she  was 
living  a  retired  life  on  one  of  her  estates  in  Normandy, 
economizing  and  praying,  ending  her  days  between 
priests  and  money-bags,  cold  as  ever  to  her  dying 
moment.  Even  supposing  that  Marie  had  time  to  go 
to  Bayeux  and  implore  her,  would  her  mother  give  her 
such  a  sum  unless  she  explained  why  she  wanted  it? 
Could   she   say   she  had   debts?      Yes,   perhaps   her 


122  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

mother  would  be  softened  by  the  wants  of  her  favorite 
child.  Well,  then  !  in  case  all  other  means  failed,  she 
would  go  to  Normandy.  The  dreadful  sight  of  the 
morning,  the  efforts  she  had  made  to  revive  Nathan,  the 
hours  passed  beside  his  pillow,  his  broken  confession, 
the  agony  of  a  great  soul,  a  vast  genius  stopped  in  its 
upward  flight  by  a  sordid  vulgar  obstacle,  — all  these 
things  rushed  into  her  memory  and  stimulated  her  love. 
She  went  over  and  over  her  emotions,  and  felt  her  love 
to  be  deeper  in  these  days  of  misery  than  in  those  of 
Nathan's  fame  and  grandeur.  She  felt  the  nobility  of 
his  last  words  said  to  her  in  Lady  Dudley's  boudoir. 
What  sacredness  in  that  farewell  !  What  grandeur  in 
the  immolation  of  a  selfish  happiness  which  would  have 
been  her  torture  !  The  countess  had  longed  for  emo- 
tions, and  now  she  had  them,  —  terrible,  cruel,  and 
yet  most  precious.  She  lived  a  deeper  life  in  pain 
than  in  pleasure.  With  what  delight  she  said  to  her- 
self: "I  have  saved  him  once,  and  I  will  save  him 
again."  She  heard  him  cry  out  when  he  felt  her  lips 
upon  his  forehead,  "Many  a  poor  wretch  does  not 
know  what  love  is  !  " 

"Are  you  ill?"  said  her  husband,  coming  into  her 
room  to  take  her  to  breakfast. 

"I  am  dreadfully  worried  about  a  matter  that  is 
happening  at  my  sister's,"  she  replied,  without  actu- 
ally telling  a  lie. 

"Your  sister  has  fallen  into  bad  hands,"  replied 
Félix.  "It  is  a  shame  for  any  family  to  have  a  du 
Tillet  in  it,  —  a  man  without  honor  of  any  kind.  If 
disaster  happened  to  her  she  would  get  no  pity  from 
him." 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  123 

"  What  woman  wants  pity  ?  "  said  the  countess,  with 
a  convulsive  motion.  "A  man's  sternness  is  to  us 
our  only  pardon." 

"This  is  not  the  first  time  that  I  read  your  noble 
heart,"  said  the  count.  "A  woman  who  thinks  as  you 
do  needs  no  watching." 

"Watching  !  "  she  said  ;  "  another  shame  that  recoils 
on  you." 

Félix  smiled,  but  Marie  blushed.  When  women 
are  secretly  to  blame  they  often  show  ostensibly  the 
utmost  womanly  pride.  It  is  a  dissimulation  of  mind 
for  which  we  ought  to  be  obliged  to  them.  The  decep- 
tion is  full  of  dignity,  if  not  of  grandeur.  Marie 
wrote  two  lines  to  Nathan  under  the  name  of  Monsieur 
Quillet,  to  tell  him  that  all  went  well,  and  sent  them 
by  a  street  porter  to  the  hotel  du  Mail.  That  night, 
at  the  Opera,  Félix  thought  it  very  natural  that  she 
should  wish  to  leave  her  box  and  go  to  that  of  her 
sister,  and  he  waited  till  du  Tillet  had  left  his  wife  to 
give  Marie  his  arm  and  take  her  there.  Who  can  tell 
what  emotions  agitated  her  as  she  went  through  the 
corridors  and  entered  her  sister's  box  with  a  face  that 
was  outwardly  serene  and  calm! 

"Well?"  she  said,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

Eugenie's  face  was  an  answer;  it  was  bright  with 
a  joy  which  some  persons  might  have  attributed  to  the 
satisfaction  of  vanity. 

"He  can  be  saved,  dear;  but  for  three  months  only; 
during  which  time  we  must  plan  some  other  means  of 
doing  it  permanently.  Madame  de  Nucingen  wants 
four  notes  of  hand,  each  for  ten  thousand  francs, 
endorsed  by  any  one,  no   matter  who,  so  as  not  to 


124  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

compromise  you.  She  explained  to  me  how  they  were 
made,  but  I  could  n't  understand  her.  Monsieur 
Nathan,  however,  can  make  them  for  us.  I  thought 
of  Schmucke,  our  old  master.  I  am  sure  he  could  be 
very  useful  in  this  emergency  ;  he  will  endorse  the 
notes.  You  must  add  to  the  four  notes  a  letter  in 
which  you  guarantee  their  payment  to  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  and  she  will  give  you  the  money  to- 
morrow. Do  the  whole  thing  yourself;  don't  trust  it 
to  any  one.  I  feel  sure  that  Schmucke  will  make  no 
objection.  To  divert  all  suspicion  I  told  Madame  de 
Nucingen  you  wanted  to  oblige  our  old  music-master 
who  was  in  distress,  and  I  asked  her  to  keep  the 
matter  secret." 

"You  have  the  sense  of  angels!  I  only  hope 
Madame  de  Nucingen  won't  tell  of  it  until  after  she 
gives  me  the  money,"  said  the  countess. 

"Schmucke  lives  in  the  rue  de  Nevers  on  the  quai 
Conti;  don't  forget  the  address,  and  go  yourself." 

"Thanks!"  said  the  countess,  pressing  her  sister's 
hand.     "Ah!  I  'd  give  ten  years  of  life  —  " 

"Out  of  your  old  age  —  " 

"If  I  could  put  an  end  to  these  anxieties,"  said  the 
countess,  smiling  at  the  interruption. 

The  persons  who  were  at  that  moment  levelling  their 
opera-glasses  at  the  two  sisters  might  well  have  sup- 
posed them  engaged  in  some  light-hearted  talk;  but 
any  observer  who  had  come  to  the  Opera  more  for  the 
pleasure  of  watching  faces  than  for  mere  idle  amuse- 
ment might  have  guessed  them  in  trouble,  from  the 
anxious  look  which  followed  the  momentary  smiles 
on  their  charming  faces. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve,  125 

The  next  morning,  by  half-past  eight,  Marie  had 
driven  to  the  quai  Conti,  stopping  at  the  hotel  du  Mail 
on  her  way.  The  carriage  could  not  enter  the  narrow 
rue  de  Ne  vers  ;  but  as  Schmucke  lived  in  a  house  at 
the  corner  of  the  quai  she  was  not  obliged  to  walk 
up  its  muddy  pavement,  but  could  jump  from  the 
step  of  her  carriage  to  the  broken  step  of  the  dismal 
old  house,  mended  like  porter's  crockery,  with  iron 
rivets,  and  bulging  out  over  the  street  in  a  way  that 
was  quite  alarming  to  pedestrians.  The  old  chapel- 
master  lived  on  the  fourth  floor,  and  enjoyed  a  fine 
view  of  the  Seine  from  the  pont  Neuf  to  the  heights 
of  Chaillot. 

The  good  soul  was  so  surprised  when  the  countess's 
footman  announced  the  visit  of  his  former  scholar  that 
in  his  stupefaction  he  let  her  enter  without  going  down 
to  receive  her.  Never  did  the  countess  suspect  or 
imagine  such  an  existence  as  that  which  suddenly  re- 
vealed itself  to  her  eyes,  though  she  had  long  known 
Schmucke's  contempt  for  dress,  and  the  little  interest 
he  felt  in  the  affairs  of  this  world.  But  who  could 
have  believed  in  such  complete  indifference,  in  the 
utter  laisser-aller  of  such  a  life?  Schmucke  was  a 
musical  Diogenes,  and  he  felt  no  shame  whatever  in 
his  untidiness;  in  fact,  he  was  so  accustomed  to  it 
that  he  would  probably  have  denied  its  existence.  The 
incessant  smoking  of  a  stout  German  pipe  had  spread 
upon  the  ceiling  and  over  a  wretched  wall-paper, 
scratched  and  defaced  by  the  cat,  a  yellowish  tinge. 
The  cat,  a  magnificently  long-furred,  fluffy  animal,  the 
envy  of  all  portresses,  presided  there  like  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  grave  and  sedate,  and  without  anxieties. 


126  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

On  the  top  of  an  excellent  Viennese  piano  he  sat  majes- 
tically, and  cast  upon  the  countess,  as  she  entered, 
that  coldly  gracious  look  which  a  woman,  surprised 
by  the  beauty  of  another  woman,  might  have  given. 
He  did  not  move,  and  merely  waved  the  two  silver 
threads  of  his  right  whisker  as  he  turned  his  golden 
eyes  on  Schmucke. 

The  piano,  decrepit  on  its  legs,  though  made  of  good 
wood  painted  black  and  gilded,  was  dirty,  defaced, 
and  scratched;  and  its  keys,  worn  like  the  teeth  of 
old  horses,  were  yellowed  with  the  fuliginous  colors  of 
the  pipe.  On  the  desk,  a  little  heap  of  ashes  showed 
that  the  night  before  Schmucke  had  bestrode  the  old 
instrument  to  some  musical  Walhalla.  The  floor,  cov- 
ered with  dried  mud,  torn  papers,  tobacco-dust,  frag- 
ments indescribable,  was  like  that  of  a  boy's  school- 
room, unswept  for  a  week,  on  which  a  mound  of 
things  accumulate,  half  rags,  half  filth. 

A  more  practised  eye  than  that  of  the  coun- 
tess would  have  seen  certain  other  revelations  of 
Schmucke' s  mode  of  life,  —  chestnut-peels,  apple-par- 
ings, egg-shells  dyed  red  in  broken  dishes  smeared 
with  sauer-kraut.  This  German  detritus  formed  a  car- 
pet of  dusty  filth  which  crackled  under  foot,  joining 
company  near  the  hearth  with  a  mass  of  cinders  and 
ashes  descending  majestically  from  the  fireplace, 
where  lay  a  block  of  coal,  before  which  two  slender 
twigs  made  a  show  of  burning.  On  the  chimney-piece 
was  a  mirror  in  a  painted  frame,  adorned  with  figures 
dancing  a  saraband;  on  one  side  hung  the  glorious 
pipe,  on  the  other  was  a  Chinese  jar  in  which  the  musi- 
cian kept  his  tobacco.     Two  arm-chairs  bought  at  auc- 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  127 

tion,  a  thin  and  rickety  cot,  a  worm-eaten  bureau  with- 
out a  top,  a  maimed  table  on  which  lay  the  remains  of 
a  frugal  breakfast,  made  up  a  set  of  household  belong- 
ings as  plain  as  those  of  an  Indian  wigwam.  A 
shaving-glass,  suspended  to  the  fastening  of  a  curtain- 
less  window,  and  surmounted  by  a  rag  striped  by  many 
wipings  of  a  razor,  indicated  the  only  sacrifices  paid 
by  Schmucke  to  the  Graces  and  society.  The  cat, 
being  the  feebler  and  protected  partner,  had  rather  the 
best  of  the  establishment;  he  enjoyed  the  comforts 
of  an  old  sofa-cushion,  near  which  could  be  seen  a 
white  china  cup  and  plate.  But  what  no  pen  can  de- 
scribe was  the  state  into  which  Schmucke,  the  cat,  and 
the  pipe,  that  existing  trinity,  had  reduced  these 
articles.  The  pipe  had  burned  the  table.  The  cat  and 
Schmucke' s  head  had  greased  the  green  Utrecht  velvet 
of  the  two  arm-chairs  and  reduced  it  to  a  slimy  texture. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  cat's  magnificent  tail,  which 
played  a  useful  part  in  the  household,  the  uncovered 
places  on  the  bureau  and  the  piano  would  never  have 
been  dusted.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  were  a  pile 
of  shoes  which  need  an  epic  to  describe  them.  The 
top  of  the  bureau  and  that  of  the  piano  were  encum- 
bered by  music-books  with  ragged  backs  and  whitened 
corners,  through  which  the  pasteboard  showed  its 
many  layers.  Along  the  walls  the  names  and  ad- 
dresses of  pupils  written  on  scraps  of  paper  were 
stuck  on  by  wafers,  —  the  number  of  wafers  without 
paper  indicating  the  number  of  pupils  no  longer 
taught.  On  the  wall-papers  were  many  calculations 
written  with  chalk.  The  bureau  was  decorated  with 
beer-mugs  used  the   night   before,  their  newness  ap- 


128  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

pearing  very  brilliant  in  the  midst  of  this  rubbish  of 
dirt  and  age.  Hygiene  was  represented  by  a  jug  of 
water  with  a  towel  laid  upon  it,  and  a  bit  of  common 
soap.  Two  ancient  hats  hung  to  their  respective  nails, 
near  which  also  hung  the  self-same  blue  box-coat  with 
three  capes,  in  which  the  countess  had  always  seen 
Schmucke  when  he  came  to  give  his  lessons.  On  the 
window-sill  were  three  pots  of  flowers,  German  flowers, 
no  doubt,  and  near  them  a  stout  holly-wood  stick. 

Though  Marie's  sight  and  smell  were  disagreeably 
affected,  Schmucke's  smile  and  glance  disguised  these 
abject  miseries  by  rays  of  celestial  light  which  actu- 
ally illuminated  their  smoky  tones  and  vivified  the 
chaos.  The  soul  of  this  dear  man,  which  saw  and 
revealed  so  many  things  divine,  shone  like  the  sun. 
His  laugh,  so  frank,  so  guileless  at  seeing  one  of  his 
Saint-Cecilias,  shed  sparkles  of  youth  and  gayety  and 
innocence  about  him.  The  treasures  he  poured  from 
the  inner  to  the  outer  were  like  a  mantle  with  which 
he  covered  his  squalid  life.  The  most  supercilious 
parvenu  would  have  felt  it  ignoble  to  care  for  the 
frame  in  which  this  glorious  old  apostle  of  the  musical 
religion  lived  and  moved  and  had  his  being. 

"Hey!  by  what  good  luck  do  I  see  you  here,  dear 
Madame  la  comtesse?"  he  said.  "Must  I  sing  the 
canticle  of  Simeon  at  my  age?  "  (This  idea  so  tickled 
him  that  he  laughed  immoderately.)  "Truly  I'm  en 
bonne  fortune"  (And  again  he  laughed  like  a  merry 
child).  "But,  ah!  "  he  said,  changing  to  melancholy, 
you  come  for  the  music,  and  not  for  a  poor  old  man  like 
me.  Yes,  I  know  that  ;  but  come  for  what  you  will, 
I  am  yours,  you  know,  body  and  soul  and  all  I  have  !  " 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  129 

This  was  said  in  his  unspeakable  German  accent,  a 
rendition  of  which  we  spare  the  reader. 

He  took  the  countess's  hand,  kissed  it  and  left  a  tear 
there,  for  the  worthy  soul  was  always  on  the  morrow 
of  her  benefit.  Then  he  seized  a  bit  of  chalk,  jumped 
on  a  chair  in  front  of  the  piano,  and  wrote  upon  the 
wall  in  big  letters,  with  the  rapidity  of  a  young  man, 
"February  17th,  1835."  This  pretty,  artless  action, 
done  in  such  a  passion  of  gratitude,  touched  the  coun- 
tess to  tears. 

"My  sister  will  come,  too,"  she  said. 

"The  other,  too!  When?  when?  God  grant  it  be 
before  I  die  !  " 

"  She  will  come  to  thank  you  for  a  great  service  I 
am  now  here  to  ask  of  you." 

"Quick!  quick!  tell  me  what  it  is,"  cried  Schmucke. 
"What  must  I  do?  go  to  the  devil?" 

"Nothing  more  than  to  write  the  words  '  Accepted 
for  ten  thousand  francs,'  and  sign  your  name  on  each 
of  these  papers,"  she  said,  taking  from  her  muff  four 
notes  prepared  for  her  by  Nathan. 

"Hey!  that's  soon  done,"  replied  the  German,  with 
the  docility  of  a  lamb;  "only  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
where  my  pens  and  ink  are  —  Get  away  from  there, 
Meinherr  Mirr  !  "  he  cried  to  the  cat,  which  looked  com- 
posedly at  him.  "That 's  my  cat,"  he  said,  showing 
him  to  the  countess.  "That  's  the  poor  animal  that 
lives  with  poor  Schmucke.     Has  n't  he  fine  fur?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  countess. 

"Will  you  have  him?"  he  cried. 

"How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing?"  she  an- 
swered.    "Why,  he 's  your  friend!  " 


130  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

The  cat,  who  hid  the  inkstand  behind  him,  divined 
that  Schmucke  wanted  it,  and  jumped  to  the  bed. 

"He  's  as  mischievous  as  a  monkey,"  said 
Schmucke.  "I  call  him  Mirr  in  honor  of  our  great 
Hoffmann  of  Berlin,  whom  I  knew  well." 

The  good  man  signed  the  papers  with  the  innocence 
of  a  child  who  does  what  his  mother  orders  without 
question,  so  sure  is  he  that  all  is  right.  He  was  think- 
ing much  more  of  presenting  the  cat  to  the  countess 
than  of  the  papers  by  which  his  liberty  might  be, 
according  to  the  laws  relating  to  foreigners,  forever 
sacrificed. 

"You  assure  me  that  these  little  papers  with  the 
stamps  on  them  —  " 

"Don't  be  in  the  least  uneasy,"  said  the  countess. 

"I  am  not  uneasy,"  he  said,  hastily.  "I  only  meant 
to  ask  if  these  little  papers  will  give  pleasure  to 
Madame  du  Tillet." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "you  are  doing  her  a  service, 
as  if  you  were  her  father." 

"I  am  happy,  indeed,  to  be  of  any  good  to  her  — 
Come  and  listen  to  my  music!"  and  leaving  the 
papers  on  the  table,  he  jumped  to  his  piano. 

The  hands  of  this  angel  ran  along  the  yellowing 
keys,  his  glance  was  rising  to  heaven,  regardless  of 
the  roof  ;  already  the  air  of  some  blessed  climate  per- 
meated the  room  and  the  soul  of  the  old  musician; 
but  the  countess  did  not  allow  the  artless  interpreter 
of  things  celestial  to  make  the  strings  and  the  worn 
wood  speak,  like  Raffaelle's  Saint  Cecilia,  to  the 
listening  angels.  She  quickly  slipped  the  notes  into 
her   muff   and  recalled  -her  radiant  master  from  the 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  131 

ethereal  spheres  to  which  he  soared,  by  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"My  good  Schmucke  —  "  she  said. 

"Going  already?"  he  cried.  "Ah!  why  did  you 
come  ?  " 

He  did  not  murmur,  but  he  sat  up  like  a  faithful  dog 
who  listens  to  his  mistress. 

"My  good  Schmucke,"  she  repeated,  "this  is  a 
matter  of  life  and  death;  minutes  can  save  tears,  per- 
haps blood." 

"Always  the  same!  "  he  said.  "Go,  angel!  dry  the 
tears  of  others.  Your  poor  Schmucke  thinks  more  of 
your  visit  than  of  your  gifts." 

"But  we  must  see  each  other  often,"  she  said. 
"You  must  come  and  dine  and  play  to  me  every  Sun- 
day, or  we  shall  quarrel.  Remember,  1  shall  expect 
you  next  Sunday." 

"Really  and  truly?" 

"  Yes,  I  entreat  you  ;  and  my  sister  will  want  you, 
too,  for  another  day." 

"Then  my  happiness  will  be  complete,"  he  said; 
"for  I  only  see  you  now  in  the  Champs  Elysées  as  you 
pass  in  your  carriage,  and  that  is  very  seldom." 

This  thought  dried  the  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  gave 
his  arm  to  his  beautiful  pupil,  who  felt  the  old  man's 
heart  beat  violently. 

"You  think  of  us?"  she  said. 

"Always  as  I  eat  my  food,"  he  answered, — "as 
my  benefactresses;  but  chiefly  as  the  first  young  girls 
worthy  of  love  whom  I  ever  knew." 

So  respectful,  faithful,  and  religious  a  solemnity 
was   in  this  speech   that  the   countess  dared  say  no 


132  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

more.     That  smoky  chamber,  full  of  dirt  and  rubbish, 
was  the  temple  of  two  divinities. 

"There  we  are  loved  —  and  truly  loved,"  she 
thought. 

The  emotion  with  which  old  Schmucke  saw  the 
countess  get  into  her  carriage  and  leave  him  she 
fully  shared,  and  she  sent  him  from  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  one  of  those  pretty  kisses  which  women  give 
each  other  from  afar.  Receiving  it,  the  old  man  stood 
planted  on  his  feet  for  a  long  time  after  the  carriage 
had  disappeared. 

A  few  moments  later  the  countess  entered  the  court- 
yard of  the  hôtel  de  Nucingen.  Madame  de  Nucingen 
was  not  yet  up  ;  but  anxious  not  to  keep  a  woman  of 
the  countess's  position  waiting,  she  hastily  threw  on 
a  shawl  and  wrapper. 

"My  visit  concerns  a  charitable  action,  madame," 
said  the  countess,  "or  I  would  not  disturb  you  at  so 
early  an  hour." 

"But  I  am  only  too  happy  to  be  disturbed,"  said  the 
banker's  wife,  taking  the  notes  and  the  countess's 
guarantee.     She  rang  for  her  maid. 

"Thérèse,"  she  said,  "tell  the  cashier  to  bring  me 
up  himself,  immediately,  forty  thousand  francs." 

Then  she  locked  into  a  table  drawer  the  guarantee 
given  by  Madame  de  Vandenesse,  after  sealing  it  up. 

"You  have  a  delightful  room,"  said  the  countess. 

"Yes,  but  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  is  going  to  take  it 
from  me.     He  is  building  a  new  house." 

"You  will  doubtless  give  this  one  to  your  daughter, 
who,  I  am  told,  is  to  marry  Monsieur  de  Rastignac." 

The   cashier   appeared   at  this    moment   with    the 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  133 

money.     Madame  de  Nucingen  took  the  bank-bills  and 
gave  him  the  notes  of  hand. 

"That  balances,"  she  said. 

"Except  the  discount,"  replied  the  cashier.  "Ha, 
Schmucke;  that's  the  musician  of  Anspach,"  he 
added,  examining  the  signatures  in  a  suspicious  man- 
ner that  made  the  countess  tremble. 

"Who  is  doing  this  business?"  said  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  with  a  haughty  glance  at  the  cashier. 
"This  is  my  affair." 

The  cashier  looked  alternately  at  the  two  ladies, 
but  he  could  discover  nothing  on  their  impenetrable 
faces. 

"Go,  leave  us —  Have  the  kindness  to  wait  a  few 
moments  that  the  people  in  the  bank  may  not  connect 
you  with  this  negotiation,"  said  Madame  de  Nucingen 
to  the  countess. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  add  to  all  your  other  kindness 
that  of  keeping  this  matter  secret,"  said  Madame  de 
Vandenesse. 

"Most  assuredly,  since  it  is  for  a  charity,"  replied 
the  baroness,  smiliug.  "I  will  send  your  carriage 
round  to  the  garden  gate,  so  that  no  one  will  see  you 
leave  the  house." 

"You  have  the  thoughtful  grace  of  a  person  who  has 
suffered,"  said  the  countess. 

"I  do  not  know  if  I  have  grace,"  said  the  baron- 
ess; "but  I  have  suffered  much.  I  hope  that  your 
anxieties  cost  less  than  mine." 

When  a  man  has  laid  a  plot  like  that  du  Tillet  was 
scheming  against  Nathan,  he  confides  it  to  no  man. 
Nucingen  knew  something  of  it,  but   his  wife  knew 


134  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

nothing.  The  baroness,  however,  aware  that  Raoul 
was  embarrassed,  was  not  the  dupe  of  the  two  sisters  ; 
she  guessed  into  whose  hands  that  money  was  to  go, 
and  she  was  delighted  to  oblige  the  countess;  more- 
over, she  felt  a  deep  compassion  for  all  such  em- 
barrassments. Rastignac,  so  placed  that  he  was 
able  to  fathom  the  manœuvres  of  the  two  bankers, 
came  to  breakfast  that  morning  with  Madame  de 
Nucingen. 

Delphine  and  Rastignac  had  no  secrets  from  each 
other;  and  the  baroness  related  to  him  her  scene  with 
the  countess.  Eugène,  who  had  never  supposed  that 
Delphine  could  be  mixed  up  in  the  affair,  which  was 
only  accessory  to  his  eyes,  —  one  means  among  many 
others,  —  opened  her  eyes  to  the  truth.  She  had  prob- 
ably, he  told  her,  destroyed  du  Tillet's  chances  of 
election,  and  rendered  useless  the  intrigues  and  decep- 
tions of  the  past  year.  In  short,  he  put  her  in  the 
secret  of  the  whole  affair,  advising  her  to  keep  abso- 
lute silence  as  to  the  mistake  she  had  just  committed. 

"Provided  the  cashier  does  not  tell  Nucingen,"  she 
said. 

A  few  moments  after  mid-day,  while  du  Tillet  was 
breakfasting,  Monsieur  Gigonnet  was  announced. 

"Let  him  come  in,"  said  the  banker,  though  his 
wife  was  at  table.  "Well,  my  old  Shylock,  is  our 
man  locked  up  ?  " 

"No." 

"Why  not?  Did  n't  I  give  you  the  address,  rue  du 
Mail,  hôtel  —  " 

"He  has  paid  up,"  said  Gigonnet,  drawing  from  his 
wallet  a  pile  of  bank-bills.     Du  Tillet  looked  furious. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  135 

"You  should  never  frown  at  money,"  said  his  impas- 
sible associate;  "it  brings  ill-luck." 

"Where  did  you  get  that  money,  madame?"  said 
du  Tillet,  suddenly  turning  upon  his  wife  with  a  look 
which  made  her  color  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

4 'I  don't  know  what  your  question  means,"  she  said. 

"I  will  fathom  this  mystery,"  he  cried,  springing 
furiously  up.  "You  have  upset  my  most  cherished 
plans." 

"You  are  upsetting  your  breakfast,"  said  Gigonnet, 
arresting  the  table-cloth,  which  was  dragged  by  the 
skirt  of  du  Tillet' s  dressing-gown. 

Madame  du  Tillet  rose  to  leave  the  room,  for  her 
husband's  words  alarmed  her.  She  rang  the  bell, 
and  a  footman  entered. 

"The  carriage,"  she  said.  "And  call  Virginie;  I 
wish  to  dress." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  exclaimed  du  Tillet. 

"Well-bred  husbands  do  not  question  their  wives," 
she  answered.  "I  believe  that  you  lay  claim  to  be  a 
gentleman." 

"I  don't  recognize  you  ever  since  you  have  seen 
more  of  your  impertinent  sister." 

"You  ordered  me  to  be  impertinent,  and  I  am  prac- 
tising on  you,"  she  replied. 

"Your  servant,  madame,"  said  Gigonnet,  taking 
leave,  not  anxious  to  witness  this  family  scene. 

Du  Tillet  looked  fixedly  at  his  wife,  who  returned 
the  look  without  lowering  her  eyes. 

"What  does  all  this  mean?  "  he  said. 

"It  means  that  I  am  no  longer  a  little  girl  whom 
you  can  frighten,"  she  replied.     "I  am,  and  shall  be, 


136  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

all  my  life,  a  good  and  loyal  wife  to  you  ;  you  may  be 
my  master  if  you  choose,  my  tyrant,  never!  " 

Du  Tillet  left  the  room.  After  this  effort  Marie- 
Eugénie  broke  down. 

"If  it  were  not  for  my  sister's  danger,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "I  should  never  have  dared  to  brave  him  thus; 
but,  as  the  proverb  says,  '  There  's  some  good  in  every 
eviL'" 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  137 


IX. 

THE    HUSBAND'S    TRIUMPH. 

During  the  preceding  night  Madame  du  Tillet  had 
gone  over  in  her  mind  her  sister's  revelations.  Sure, 
now,  of  Nathan's  safety,  she  was  no  longer  influenced 
by  the  thought  of  an  imminent  danger  in  that  direc- 
tion. But  she  remembered  the  vehement  energy  with 
which  the  countess  had  declared  that  she  would  fly 
with  Nathan  if  that  would  save  him.  She  saw  that 
the  man  might  determine  her  sister  in  some  paroxysm 
of  gratitude  and  love  to  take  a  step  which  was  noth- 
ing short  of  madness.  There  were  recent  examples  in 
the  highest  society  of  just  such  flights  which  paid  for 
doubtful  pleasures  by  lasting  remorse  and  the  dis- 
repute of  a  false  position.  .  Du  Tillet's  speech  brought 
her  fears  to  a  point;  she  dreaded  lest  all  should  be 
discovered;  she  knew  her  sister's  signature  was  in 
Nucingen's  hands,  and  she  resolved  to  entreat  Marie 
to  save  herself  by  confessing  all  to  Félix. 

She  drove  to  her  sister's  house,  but  Marie  was  not 
at  home.  Félix  was  there.  A  voice  within  her  cried 
aloud  to  Eugénie  to  save  her  sister;  the  morrow 
might  be  too  late.  She  took  a  vast  responsibility 
upon  herself,  but  she  resolved  to  tell  all  to  the  count. 
Surely  he  would  be  indulgent  when  he  knew  that  his 
honor  was  still  safe.     The  countess  was  deluded  rather 


138  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

than  sinful.  Eugénie  feared  to  be  treacherous  and 
base  in  revealing  secrets  that  society  (agreeing  on  this 
point)  holds  to  be  inviolable  ;  but  —  she  saw  her 
sister's  future,  she  trembled  lest  she  should  some  day 
be  deserted,  ruined  by  Nathan,  poor,  suffering,  dis- 
graced, wretched,  and  she  hesitated  no  longer;  she 
sent  in  her  name  and  asked  to  see  the  count. 

Félix,  astonished  at  the  visit,  had  a  long  conversa- 
tion with  his  sister-in-law,  in  which  he  seemed  so 
calm,  so  completely  master  of  himself,  that  she  feared 
he  might  have  taken  some  terrible  resolution. 

"Do  not  be  uneasy,"  he  said,  seeing  her  anxiety. 
"I  will  act  in  a  manner  which  shall  make  your 
sister  bless  you.  However  much  you  may  dislike  to 
keep  the  fact  that  you  have  spoken  to  me  from  her 
knowledge,  I  must  entreat  you  to  do  so.  I  need  a  few 
clays  to  search  into  mysteries  which  you  don't  per- 
ceive ;  and,  above  all,  I  must  act  cautiously.  Perhaps 
I  can  learn  all  in  a  day.  I,  alone,  my  dear  sister, 
am  the  guilty  person.  All  lovers  play  their  game, 
and  it  is  not  every  woman  who  is  able,  unassisted, 
to  see  life  as  it  is." 

Madame  du  Tillet  returned  home  comforted.  Félix 
de  Vandenesse  drew  forty  thousand  francs  from  the 
Bank  of  France,  and  went  direct  to  Madame  de  Nucin- 
gen.  He  found  her  at  home,  thanked  her  for  the  con- 
fidence she  had  placed  in  his  wife,  and  returned  the 
money,  explaining  that  the  countess  had  obtained  this 
mysterious  loan  for  her  charities,  which  were  so  pro- 
fuse that  he  was  tvymg  to  put  a  limit  to  them. 

"Give  me  no  explanations,  monsieur,  since  Madame 
de  Vandenesse  has  told  you  all,"  said  the  Baronne  de 
Nucingen. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  139 

"She  knows  the  truth,"  thought  Vandenesse. 

Madame  de  Nucingen  returned  to  him  Marie's  letter 
of  guarantee  and  sent  to  the  bank  for  the  four  notes. 
Vandenesse,  during  the  short  time  that  these  arrange- 
ments kept  him  waiting,  watched  the  baroness  with 
the  eye  of  a  statesman,  and  he  thought  the  moment 
propitious  for  further  negotiation. 

"  We  live  in  an  age,  madame,  when  nothing  is  sure," 
he  said.  "Even  thrones  rise  and  fall  in  France  with 
fearful  rapidity.  Fifteen  years  have  wreaked  their 
will  on  a  great  empire,  a  monarchy,  and  a  revolution. 
No  one  can  now  dare  to  count  upon  the  future.  You 
know  my  attachment  to  the  cause  of  legitimacy.  Sup- 
pose some  catastrophe  ;  would  you  not  be  glad  to  have 
a  friend  in  the  conquering  party  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"Very  good;  then,  will  you  have  in  me,  secretly, 
an  obliged  friend  who  could  be  of  use  to  Monsieur  de 
Nucingen  in  such  a  case,  by  supporting  his  claim  to 
the  peerage  he  is  seeking?  " 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?  "  she  asked. 

"Very  little,"  he  replied.  "All  that  you  know 
about  Nathan's  affairs." 

The  baroness  repeated  to  him  her  conversation  with 
Rastignac,  and  said,  as  she  gave  him  the  four  notes, 
which  the  cashier  had  meantime  brought  to  her: 

"Don't  forget  your  promise." 

So  little  did  Vandenesse  forget  this  illusive  promise 
that  he  used  it  again  on  Baron  Eugène  de  Rastignac 
to  obtain  from  him  certain  other  information.  Leav- 
ing Rastignac's  apartments,  he  dictated  to  a  street- 
amanuensis  the  following  note  to  Florine. 


140  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"If  Mademoiselle  Florine  wishes  to  know  of  a  part 
she  may  play  she  is  requested  to  come  to  the  masked 
opera  at  the  Opera  next  Sunday  night,  accompanied 
by  Monsieur  Nathan." 

To  this  ball  he  determined  to  take  his  wife  and  let 
her  own  eyes  enlighten  her  as  to  the  relations  between 
Nathan  and  Florine.  He  knew  the  jealous  pride  of 
the  countess  ;  he  wanted  to  make  her  renounce  her  love 
of  her  own  will,  without  causing  her  to  blush  before 
him,  and  then  to  return  to  her  her  own  letters,  sold  by 
Florine,  from  whom  he  expected  to  be  able  to  buy 
them.  This  judicious  plan,  rapidly  conceived  and 
partly  executed,  might  fail  through  some  trick  of 
chance  which  meddles  with  all  things  here  below. 

After  dinner  that  evening,  Félix  brought  the  con- 
versation round  to  the  masked  balls  of  the  Opera, 
remarking  that  Marie  had  never  been  to  one,  and  pro- 
posing that  she  should  accompany  him  the  following 
evening. 

"I'll  find  you  some  one  to  intriguer,"  he  said. 

"Ah!  I  wish  you  would,"  she  replied. 

"To  do  the  thing  well,  a  woman  ought  to  fasten 
upon  some  good  prey,  some  celebrity,  a  man  of  enough 
wit  to  give  and  take.  There  's  Nathan;  will  you  have 
him?  I  know,  through  a  friend  of  Florine,  certain 
secrets  of  his  which  would  drive  him  crazy." 

"Florine?  "  said  the  countess."  "Do  you  mean  the 
actress  ?  " 

Marie  had  already  heard  that  name  from  the  lips  of 
the  watchman  Quillet;  it  now  shot  like  a  flash  of 
lightning  through  her  soul. 

"Yes,  his  mistress,"  replied  the  count.  "What  is 
there  so  surprising  in  that?" 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  141 

"I  thought  Monsieur  Nathan  too  busy  to  have  a 
mistress.     Do  authors  have  time  to  make  love  ?  " 

"I  dori't  say  they  love,  my  clear,  but  they  are  forced 
to  lodge  somewhere,  like  other  men,  and  when  they 
have  n't  a  home  of  their  own  they  lodge  with  their 
mistresses  ;  which  may  seem  to  you  rather  loose,  but 
it  is  far  more  agreeable  than  lodging  in  a  prison." 

Fire  was  less  red  than  Marie's  cheeks. 

"Will  you  have  him  for  a  victim?  I  can  help  you 
to  terrify  him,"  continued  the  count,  not  looking  at 
his  wife's  face.  "I'll  put  you  in  the  way  of  proving 
to  him  that  he  is  being  tricked  like  a  child  by  your 
brother-in-law  du  Tilletl  That  wretch  is  trying  to  put 
Nathan  in  prison  so  as  to  make  him  ineligible  to  stand 
against  him  in  the  electoral  college.  I  know,  through 
a  friend  of  Florine,  the  exact  sum  derived  from  the 
sale  of  her  furniture,  which  she  gave  to  Nathan  to 
found  his  newspaper;  I  know,  too,  what  she  sent  him 
out  of  her  summer's  harvest  in  the  departments  and  in 
Belgium,  —  money  which  has  really  gone  to  the  profit 
of  du  Tillet,  Nucingen,  and  Massol.  All  three  of  them, 
unknown  to  Nathan,  have  privately  sold  the  paper  to 
the  new  ministry,  so  sure  are  they  of  ejecting  him." 

"Monsieur  Nathan  is  incapable  of  accepting  money 
from  an  actress." 

"You  don't  know  that  class  of  people,  my  dear," 
said  the  count.  "He  would  not  deny  the  fact  if  you 
asked  him." 

"I  will  certainly  go  to  the  ball,"  said  the  countess. 

"You  will  be  very  much  amused,"  replied  Vande- 
nesse.  "With  such  weapons  in  hand  you  can  cut 
Nathan's  complacency  to  the  quick,  and  you  will  also 


142  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

do  him  a  great  service.  You  will  put  him  in  a  fury  ; 
he'll  try  to  be  calm,  though  inwardly  fuming;  but,  all 
the  same,  you  will  enlighten  a  man  of  talent  as  to  the 
peril  in  which  he  really  stands  ;  and  you  will  also  have 
the  satisfaction  of  laming  the  horses  of  the  juste- 
milieu  in  their  stalls  — -  But  you  are  not  listening  to 
me,  my  dear." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  listening  intently,"  she 
said.  "I  will  tell  you  later  why  I  feel  desirous  to 
know  the  truth  of  all  this." 

"You  shall  know  it,"  said  Vandenesse.  "If  you 
stay  masked  I  will  take  you  to  supper  with  Nathan 
and  Florine;  it  would  be  rather  amusing  for  a  woman 
of  your  ranlç  to  fool  an  actress  after  bewildering  the 
wits  of  a  clever  man  about  these  important  facts  ;  you 
can  harness  them  both  to  the  same  hoax.  I  '11  make 
some  inquiries  about  Nathan's  infidelities,  and  if  I 
discover  any  of  his  recent  adventures  you  shall  enjoy 
the  sight  of  a  courtesan's  fury;  it  is  magnificent. 
Florine  will  boil  and  foam  like  an  Alpine  torrent;  she 
adores  Nathan;  he  is  everything  to  her;  she  clings  to 
him  like  flesh  to  the  bones  or  a  lioness  to  her  cubs.  I 
remember  seeing,  in  my  youth,  a  celebrated  actress 
(who  wrote  like  a  scullion)  when  she  came  to  a  friend 
of  mine  to  demand  her  letters.  I  have  never  seen  such 
a  sight  again,  such  calm  fury,  such  insolent  majesty, 
such  savage  self-control —    Are  you  ill,  Marie?" 

"No;  they  have  made  too  much  fire."  The  countess 
turned  away  and  threw  herself  on  a  sofa.  Suddenly, 
with  an  unforeseen  movement,  impelled  by  the  horrible 
anguish  of  her  jealousy,  she  rose  on  her  trembling  legs, 
crossed  her  arms,  and  came  slowly  to  her  husband. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  143 

"What  do  you  know?  "  she  asked.  "You  are  not  a 
man  to  torture  me;  you  would  crush  me  without 
making  me  suffer  if  I  were  guilty." 

"What  do  you  expect  me  to  know,  Marie?  " 

"Well!  about  Nathan." 

"You  think  you  love  him,"  he  replied;  "but  you 
love  a  phantom  made  of  words." 

"Then  you  know  —  " 

"All,"  he  said. 

The  word  fell  on  Marie's  head  like  the  blow  of  a 
club. 

"If  you  wish  it,  I  will  know  nothing,"  he  continued. 
"You  are  standing  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  my 
child,  and  I  must  draw  you  from  it.  I  have  already 
done  something.     See!" 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  her  letter  of  guarantee  and 
the  four  notes  endorsed  by  Schmucke,  and  let  the 
countess  recognize  them  ;  then  he  threw  them  into  the 
fire. 

"What  would  have  happened  to  you,  my  poor  Marie, 
three  months  hence?"  he  said.  "The  sheriffs  would 
have  taken  you  to  a  public  court-room.  Don't  bow 
your  head,  don't  feel  humiliated;  you  have  been 
the  dupe  of  noble  feelings;  you  have  coquetted  with 
poesy,  not  with  a  man.  All  women  —  all,  do  you  hear 
me,  Marie?  —  would  have  been  seduced  in  your  posi- 
tion. How  absurd  we  should  be,  we  men,  we  who  have 
committed  a  thousand  follies  through  a  score  of  years, 
if  we  were  not  willing  to  grant  you  one  imprudence  in 
a  lifetime!  God  keep  me  from  triumphing  over  you 
or  from  offering  you  a  pity  you  repelled  so  vehemently 
the   other  day.     Perhaps   that  unfortunate  man  was 


144  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

sincere  when  he  wrote  to  you,  sincere  in  attempting  to 
kill  himself,  sincere  in  returning  that  same  night  to 
Florine.  Men  are  worth  less  than  women.  It  is  not 
for  my  own  sake  that  I  speak  at  this  moment,  but  for 
yours.  I  am  indulgent,  but  the  world  is  not;  it  shuns 
a  woman  who  makes  a  scandal.  Is  that  just?  I  know 
not;  but  this  I  know,  the  world  is  cruel.  Society 
refuses  to  calm  the  woes  itself  has  caused;  it  gives  its 
honors  to  those  who  best  deceive  it  ;  it  has  no  recom- 
pense for  rash  devotion.  I  see  and  know  all  that.  I 
can't  reform  society,  but  this  I  can  do,  I  can  protect 
you,  Marie,  against  yourself.  This  matter  concerns 
a  man  who  has  brought  you  trouble  only,  and  not  one 
of  those  high  and  sacred  loves  which  do,  at  times, 
command  our  abnegation,  aud  even  bear  their  own 
excuse.  Perhaps  I  have  been  wrong  in  not  varying 
your  happiness,  in  not  providing  you  with  gayer  pleas- 
ures, travel,  amusements,  distractions  for  the  mind. 
Besides,  I  can  explain  to  myself  the  impulse  that  has 
driven  you  to  a  celebrated  man,  by  the  jealous  envy 
you  have  roused  in  certain  women.  Lady  Dudley, 
Madame  d'Espard,  and  my  sister-in-law  Emilie  count 
for  something  in  all  this.  Those  women,  against 
whom  I  ought  to  have  put  you  more  thoroughly  on 
your  guard,  have  cultivated  your  curiosity  more  to 
trouble  me  and  cause  me  unhappiness,  than  to  fling 
you  into  a  whirlpool  which,  as  I  believe,  you  would 
never  have  entered." 

As  she  listened  to  these  words,  so  full  of  kindness, 
the  countess  was  torn  by  many  conflicting  feelings; 
but  the  storm  within  her  breast  was  ruled  by  one  of 
them, —  a  keen  admiration  for  her  husband.   Proud  and 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  145 

noble  souls  are  prompt  to  recognize  the  delicacy  with 
which  they  are  treated.  Tact  is  to  sentiments  what 
grace  is  to  the  body.  Marie  appreciated  the  grandeur 
of  the  man  who  bowed  before  a  woman  in  fault,  that 
he  might  not  see  her  blush.  She  ran  from  the  room 
like  one  beside  herself,  but  instantly  returned,  fearing 
lest  her  hasty  action  might  cause  him  uneasiness. 

"Wait,"  she  said,  and  disappeared  again. 

Félix  had  ably  prepared  her  excuse,  and  he  was 
instantly  rewarded  for  his  generosity.  His  wife  re- 
turned with  Nathan's  letters  in  her  hand,  and  gave 
them  to  him. 

" Judge  me,"  she  said,  kneeling  down  beside  him. 

"Are  we  able  to  judge  where  we  love?"  he  an- 
swered, throwing  the  letters  into  the  fire  ;  for  he  felt 
that  later  his  wife  might  not  forgive  him  for  having 
read  them.  Marie,  with  her  head  upon  his  knee,  burst 
into  tears. 

"My  child,"  he  said,  raising  her  head,  "where  are 
your  letters  ?  " 

At  this  question  the  poor  woman  no  longer  felt  the 
intolerable  burning  of  her  cheeks  ;  she  turned  cold. 

"That  you  may  not  suspect  me  of  calumniating  a 
man  whom  you  think  worthy  of  you,  I  will  make 
Florine  herself  return  you  those  letters." 

11  Oh!  Surely  he  would  give  them  back  to  me  him- 
self." 

"  Suppose  that  he  refused  to  do  so?  " 

The  countess  dropped  her  head. 

"The  world  disgusts  me,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
want  to  enter  it  again.  I  want  to  live  alone  with  you, 
if  you  forgive  me." 

10 


146  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"But  you  might  be  bored  again.  Besides,  what 
would  the  world  say  if  you  left  it  so  abruptly  ?  In  the 
spring  we  will  travel;  we  will  go  to  Italy,  and  all 
over  Europe;  you  shall  see  life.  But  to-morrow  night 
we  must  go  to  the  Opera-ball;  there  is  no  other 
way  to  get  those  letters  without  compromising  you; 
besides,  by  giving  them  up,  Florine  will  prove  to  you 
her  power." 

"And  must  I  see  that?"  said  the  countess,  fright- 
ened. 

"To-morrow  night." 

The  next  evening,  about  midnight,  Nathan  was 
walking  about  the  foyer  of  the  Opera  with  a  mask  on 
his  arm,  to  whom  he  was  attending  in  a  sufficiently 
conjugal  manner.  Presently  two  masked  women  came 
up  to  him. 

"You  poor  fool!  Marie  is  here  and  is  watching 
you,"  said  one  of  them,  who  was  Vandenesse,  dis- 
guised as  a  woman. 

"If  you  choose  to  listen  to  me  I  will  tell  you  secrets 
that  Nathan  is  hiding  from  you,"  said  the  other 
woman,  who  was  the  countess,  to  Florine. 

Nathan  had  abruptly  dropped  Florine' s  arm  to 
follow  the  count,  who  adroitly  slipped  into  the  crowd 
and  was  out  of  sight  in  a  moment.  Florine  followed 
the  countess,  who  sat  down  on  a  seat  close  at  hand,  to 
which  the  count,  doubling  on  Nathan,  returned  almost 
immediately  to  guard  his  wife. 

"Explain  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  Florine,  "and 
don't  think  I  shall  stand  this  long.  No  one  can  tear 
Raoul  from  me,  I'll  tell  you  that;  I  hold  him  by 
habit,  and  that's  even  stronger  than  love." 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  147 

"In  the  first  place,  are  you  Florine?"  said  the 
count,  speaking  in  his  natural  voice. 

"A  pretty  question!  if  you  don't  know  that,  my 
joking  friend,  why  should  I  believe  you?" 

"Go  and  ask  Nathan,  who  has  left  you  to  look  for 
his  other  mistress,  where  he  passed  the  night,  three 
days  ago.  He  tried  to  kill  himself  without  a  word  to 
you,  my  dear,  —  and  all  for  want  of  money.  That 
shows  how  much  you  know  about  the  affairs  of  a  man 
whom  you  say  you  love,  and  who  leaves  you  without 
a  penny,  and  kills  himself,  —  or,  rather,  does  n't  kill 
himself,  for  he  misses  it.  Suicides  that  don't  kill  are 
about  as  absurd  as  a  duel  without  a  scratch." 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  Florine.  "He  dined  with  me 
that  very  day.  The  poor  fellow  had  the  sheriff  after 
him;  he  was  hiding,  as  well  he  might." 

"Go  and  ask  at  the  hôtel  du  Mail,  rue  du  Mail,  if 
he  was  not  taken  there  that  morning,  half  dead  of  the 
fumes  of  charcoal,  by  a  handsome  young  woman  with 
whom  he  has  been  in  love  over  a  year.  Her  letters  are 
at  this  moment  under  your  very  nose  in  your  own 
house.  If  you  want  to  teach  Nathan  a  good  lesson, 
let  us  all  three  go  there;  and  I  '11  show  you,  papers  in 
hand,  how  you  can  save  him  from  the  sheriff  and 
Clichy  if  you  choose  to  be  the  good  girl  that  you  are." 

"Try  that  on  others  than  Florine,  my  little  man. 
I  am  certain  that  Nathan  has  never  been  in  love  with 
any  one  but  me." 

"On  the  contrary,  he  has  been  in  love  with  a  woman 
in  society  for  over  a  year  —  " 

"A  woman  in  society,  he!"  cried  Florine.  "I 
don't  trouble  myself  about  such  nonsense  as  that." 


148  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

"Well,  do  you  want  me  to  make  him  come  and 
tell  you  that  he  will  not  take  you  home  from  here 
to-night." 

"If  you  can  make  him  tell  me  that,"  said  Florine, 
"I'll  take  you  home,  and  we'll  look  for  those  let- 
ters, which  I  shall  believe  in  when  I  see  them,  and 
not  till  then.  He  must  have  written  them  while  I 
slept." 

"Stay  here,"  said  Félix,  "and  watch." 

So  saying,  he  took  the  arm  of  his  wife  and  moved 
to  a  little  distance.  Presently,  Nathan,  who  had  been 
hunting  up  and  down  the  foyer  like  a  dog  looking  for 
its  master,  returned  to  the  spot  where  the  mask  had 
addressed  him.  Seeing  on  his  face  an  expression  he 
could  not  conceal,  Florine  placed  herself  like  a  post  in 
front  of  him,  and  said,  imperiously:  — 

"I  don't  wish  you  to  leave  me  again;  I  have  my 
reasons  for  this." 

The  countess  then,  at  the  instigation  of  her  hus- 
band, went  up  to  Raoul  and  said  in  his  ear,  — 

"Marie.  Who  is  this  woman?  Leave  her  at  once, 
and  meet  me  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase." 

In  this  difficult  extremity  Raoul  dropped  Florine's 
arm,  and  though  she  caught  his  own  and  held  it  forci- 
bly, she  was  obliged,  after  a  moment,  to  let  him  go. 
Nathan  disappeared  into  the  crowd. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Félix  in  Florine's 
astonished  ears,  offering  her  his  arm. 

"Come,"  she  said;  "whoever  you  are,  come.  Have 
you  a  carriage  here  ?  " 

For  all  answer,  Vandenesse  hurried  Florine  away, 
followed  by  his  wife.     A  few  moments  later  the  three 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  149 

masks,  driven  rapidly  by  the  Vandenesse  coachman, 
reached  Florine's  house.  As  soon  as  she  had  entered 
her  own  apartments  the  actress  unmasked.  Madame 
de  Vandenesse  could  not  restrain  a  quiver  of  surprise 
at  Florine's  beauty  as  she  stood  there  choking  with 
anger,  and  superb  in  her  wrath  and  jealousy. 

4 'There  is,  somewhere  in  these  rooms,"  said  Vande- 
nesse, "a  portfolio,  the  key  of  which  you  have  never 
had;  the  letters  are  probably  in  it." 

"  Well,  well,  for  once  in  my  life  I  am  bewildered  ; 
you  know  something  that  I  have  been  uneasy  about 
for  some  days,"  cried  Florine,  rushing  into  the  study 
in  search  of  the  portfolio. 

Vandenesse  saw  that  his  wife  was  turning  pale  be- 
neath her  mask.  Florine's  apartment  revealed  more 
about  the  intimacy  of  the  actress  and  Nathan  than  any 
ideal  mistress  would  wish  to  know.  The  eye  of  a 
woman  can  take  in  the  truth  of  such  things  in  a 
second,  and  the  countess  saw  vestiges  of  Nathan  which 
proved  to  her  the  certainty  of  what  Vandenesse  had 
said.     Florine  returned  with  the  portfolio. 

"How  am  I  to  open  it?  "  she  said. 

The  actress  rang  the  bell  and  sent  into  the  kitchen 
for  the  cook's  knife.  When  it  came  she  brandished 
it  in  the  air,  crying  out  in  ironical  tones  :  — 

4 'With  this  they  cut  the  necks  of  poulets." 

The  words,  which  made  the  countess  shiver,  ex- 
plained to  her,  even  better  than  her  husband  had  done 
the  night  before,  the  depths  of  the  abyss  into  which 
she  had  so  nearly  fallen. 

"What  a  fool  lam!"  said  Florine;  "his  razor  will 
do  better." 


150  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

She  fetched  one  of  Nathan's  razors  from  his 
dressing-table,  and  slit  the  leather  cover  of  the  port- 
folio, through  which  Marie's  letters  dropped.  Florine 
snatched  one  up  hap-hazard,  and  looked  it  over. 

"Yes,  she  must  be  a  well-bred  woman.  It  looks  to 
me  as  if  there  were  no  mistakes  in  spelling  here." 

The  count  gathered  up  the  letters  hastily  and  gave 
them  to  his  wife,  who  took  them  to  a  table  as  if  to 
see  that  they  were  all  there. 

"Now,"  said  Vandenesse  to  Florine,  "will  you  let  me 
have  those  letters  for  these?  "  showing  her  five  bank- 
bilte  of  ten  thousand  francs  each.  "They  '11  replace 
the  sums  you  have  paid  for  him." 

"Ah!"  cried  Florine,  "didn't  I  kill  myself  body 
and  soul  in  the  provinces  to  get  him  money, —  I,  who  'd 
have  cut  my  hand  off  to  serve  him?  But  that 's  men! 
damn  your  soul  for  them  and  they  '11  march  over  you 
rough-shod!     He  shall  pay  me  for  this!  " 

Madame  de  Vandenesse  was  disappearing  with  the 
letters. 

"Hi!  stop,  stop,  my  fine  mask!"  cried  Florine; 
"leave  me  one  to  confound  him  with." 

"Not  possible,"  said  Vandenesse. 

"Why  not?" 

"That  mask  is  your  ex-rival;  but  you  needn't  fear 
her  now." 

"Well,  she  might  have  had  the  grace  to  say  thank 
you,"  cried  Florine. 

"But  you  have  the  fifty  thousand  francs  instead," 
said  Vandenesse,  bowing  to  her. 

It  is  extremely  rare  for  young  men,  when  driven  to 
suicide,  to  attempt  it  a  second  time  if  the  first  fails. 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  151 

When  it  does  n't  cure  life,  it  cures  all  desire  for  vol- 
untary death.  Raoul  felt  no  disposition  to  try  it 
again  when  he  found  himself  in  a  more  painful  posi- 
tion than  that  from  which  he  had  just  been  rescued. 
He  tried  to  see  the  countess  and  explain  to  her  the 
nature  of  his  love,  which  now  shone  more  vividly  in 
his  soul  than  ever.  But  the  first  time  they  met  in 
society,  Madame  de  Vandenesse  gave  him  that  fixed 
and  contemptuous  look  which  at  once  and  forever  puts 
an  impassable  gulf  between  a  man  and  a  woman.  In 
spite  of  his  natural  assurance,  Nathan  never  dared, 
during  the  rest  of  the  winter,  either  to  speak  to  the 
countess  or  even  approach  her. 

But  he  opened  his  heart  to  Blondet;  to  him  he  talked 
of  his  Laura  and  his  Beatrice,  apropos  of  Madame  de 
Vandenesse.  He  even  made  a  paraphrase  of  the  follow- 
ing beautiful  passage  from  the  pen  of  Théophile  Gau- 
tier, one  of  the  most  remarkable  poets  of  our  day:  — 

"  '  Ideala,  flower  of  heaven's  own  blue,  with  heart  of 
gold,  whose  fibrous  roots,  softer,  a  thousandfold,  than 
fairy  tresses,  strike  to  our  souls  and  drink  their  purest 
essence;  flower  most  sweet  and  bitter!  thou  canst 
not  be  torn  away  without  the  heart's  blood  flowing, 
without  thy  bruised  stems  sweating  with  scarlet  tears. 
Ah!  cursed  flower,  why  didst  thou  grow  within  my 
soul?'" 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Blondet,  "you  are  raving. 
I  '11  grant  it  was  a  pretty  flower,  but  it  was  n't  a  bit 
ideal,  and  instead  of  singing  like  a  blindman  before 
an  empty  niche,  you  had  much  better  wash  your  hands 
and  make  submission  to  the  powers.  You  are  too 
much  of  an  artist  ever  to  be  a  good  politician;  you 


152  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

have  been  fooled  by  men  of  not  one-half  your  value. 
Think  about  being  fooled  again  —  but  elsewhere." 

"Marie  cannot  prevent  my  loving  her,"  said 
Nathan;    "she  shall  be  my  Beatrice." 

"Beatrice,  my  good  Raoul,  was  a  little  girl  twelve 
years  of  age  when  Dante  last  saw  her;  otherwise,  she 
would  not  have  been  Beatrice.  To  make  a  divinity, 
it  won't  do  to  see  her  one  day  wrapped  in  a  mantle, 
and  the  next  with  a  low  dress,  and  the  third  on  the 
boulevard,  cheapening  toys  for  her  last  baby.  When 
a  man  has  Florine,  who  is  in  turn  duchess,  bourgeoise, 
negress,  marquise,  colonel,  Swiss  peasant,  virgin  of 
the  sun  in  Peru  (only  way  she  can  play  the  part),  I 
don't  see  why  he  should  go  rambling  after  fashionable 
women." 

Du  Tillet,  to  use  a  Bourse  term,  executed  Nathan, 
who,  for  lack  of  money,  gave  up  his  place  on  the  news- 
paper; and  the  celebrated  man  received  but  five  votes 
in  the  electoral  college  where  the  banker  was  elected. 

When,  after  a  long  and  happy  journey  in  Italy,  the 
Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  returned  to  Paris  late  in  the 
following  winter,  all  her  husband's  predictions  about 
Nathan  were  justified.  He  had  taken  Blondet's  advice 
and  negotiated  with  the  government,  which  employed 
his  pen.  His  personal  affairs  were  in  such  disorder 
that  one  day,  on  the  Champs-Elysées,  Marie  saw  her 
former  adorer  on  foot,  in  shabby  clothes,  giving  his 
arm  to  Florine.  When  a  man  becomes  indifferent  to 
the  heart  of  a  woman  who  has  once  loved  him,  he  often 
seems  to  her  very  ugly,  even  horrible,  especially  when 
he  resembles  Nathan.  Madame  de  Vandenesse  had  a 
sense  of  personal  humiliation  in  the  thought  that  she 


A  Daughter  of  Eve.  153 

had  once  cared  for  him.  If  she  had  not  already  been 
cured  of  all  extra-conjugal  passion,  the  contrast  then 
presented  by  the  count  to  this  man,  grown  less  and 
less  worthy  of  public  favor,  would  have  sufficed  her. 

To-day  the  ambitious  Nathan,  rich  in  ink  and  poor 
in  will,  has  ended  by  capitulating  entirely,  and  has  set- 
tled down  into  a  sinecure,  like  any  other  commonplace 
man.  After  lending  his  pen  to  all  disorganizing 
efforts,  he  now  lives  in  peace  under  the  protecting 
shade  of  a  ministerial  organ.  The  cross  of  the  Legion 
of  honor,  formerly  the  fruitful  text  of  his  satire, 
adorns  his  button-hole.  "Peace  at  any  price,"  ridi- 
cule of  which  was  the  stock-in-trade  of  his  revolu- 
tionary editorship,  is  now  the  topic  of  his  laudatory 
articles.  Heredity,  attacked  by  him  in  Saint- 
Simonian  phrases,  he  now  defends  with  solid  argu- 
ments. This  illogical  conduct  has  its  origin  and  its 
explanation  in  the  change  of  front  performed  by 
many  men  besides  Raoul  during  our  recent  political 
evolutions. 


A  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY. 


A   COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY. 


Dedicated  to  Monsieur  le  Contre-Amiral  Bazoche, 

Governor  of  the  île  Bourbon. 

By  the  grateful  author, 

De  Balzac. 


TWO    OLD    FRIENDS. 

In  1828,  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  two  men 
left  a  handsome  house  in  the  faubourg  Saint-Honoré, 
not  far  from  the  Elysée-Bourbon.  One  was  the  cele- 
brated doctor,  Horace  Bianchon  ;  the  other,  one  of  the 
most  elegant  men  in  Paris,  the  Baron  de  Rastignac; 
friends  of  long  standing.  Each  had  sent  away  his 
carriage,  and  no  cabs  were  to  be  seen  in  the  faubourg  ; 
but  the  night  was  fine  and  the  pavements  were  dry. 

"Let  us  go  on  foot  to  the  boulevard,"  said  Eugène 
de  Rastignac.  "You'll  find  a  cab  at  the  club;  they 
are  always  there  till  morning;  and  you  can  walk 
nearly  home  with  me." 

"Very  good." 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  what  think  you?" 


158  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"Of  that  woman?"  asked  the  doctor,  coldly. 

"I  recognize  my  Bianchon,"  cried  Rastignac. 

"How  so?" 

"You  speak  of  the  Marquise  d'Espard  as  if  she  were 
a  patient  to  put  in  your  hospital." 

"Do  you  want  to  know  what  I  think,  Eugène?  I 
think  that  if  you  leave  Madame  de  Nucingen  for  that 
marquise  you  '11  exchange  your  one-eyed  horse  for  a 
blind  one." 

"Madame  de  Nucingen  is  thirty-six  years  old." 

"And  the  other  woman  thirty- three, "  replied  the 
doctor,  quickly. 

"Her  worst  enemies  call  her  twenty-six." 

"My  dear  fellow,  when  you  have  an  interest  in 
knowing  a  woman's  age  look  at  her  temples  and  the 
end  of  her  nose.  No  matter  what  else  women  may  do 
with  their  cosmetics,  they  can't  alter  those  incorrup- 
tible witnesses  to  their  agitated  lives.  Every  year 
has  left  its  stigmata  there.  When  the  temples  of  a 
woman  look  drawn,  lined,  faded  in  a  certain  way, 
when  the  tip  of  her  nose  has  those  little  specks  which 
resemble  the  '  blacks  '  that  London  showers  down  from 
her  smoky  chimneys  where  bituminous  coal  is  burned, 
mark  my  words,  that  woman  is  over  thirty.  She  may 
be  handsome,  she  may  be  clever,  she  may  be  lovable, 
in  short,  anything  you  please,  but  she  is  over  thirty, 
and  has  reached  maturity.  I  don't  blame  those  who 
attach  themselves  to  such  women  ;  but  a  man  as  able 
as  you  ought  not  to  take  a  winter  apple  for  one  of 
those  sweet  little  pippins  which  smile  from  their  branch 
and  ask  to  be  eaten.  Love  does  n't  go  by  registers,  I 
know  that;  a  man  doesn't  love  a  woman  because  she 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  159 

is  of  this  or  that  age,  because  she  is  handsome  or  ugly, 
stupid  or  wise  ;  he  loves  because  he  loves  —  " 

"Well,  I  love  for  very  different  reasons.  She  is 
Marquise  d'Espard,  born  a  Blamont-Chauvry,  she  is 
the  fashion,  she  has  spirit,  she  has  feet  as  pretty  as 
those  of  the  Duchesse  de  Berry,  she  has  something  like 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  I  may  be  able  to 
marry  her  some  day;  at  any  rate,  she  will  put  me  in  a 
position  where  I  can  pay  my  debts." 

"I  thought  you  were  rich,"  said  Bianchon,  inter- 
rupting him. 

"Pooh!  I  have  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year  — 
just  what  my  stable  costs  me.  I  have  been  swindled, 
my  dear  fellow,  in  that  affair  of  Monsieur  de  Nucin- 
gen,  —  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day.  I  have, 
however,  married  my  sisters;  that's  the  greatest  clear 
gain  that  I  have  made  since  the  time  when  you  and  I 
were  together  at  Madame  Vauquer's;  and  T  'd  rather 
see  them  well  established  than  have  a  hundred  thou- 
sand a  year  of  my  own.  Now,  what  do  you  expect 
me  to  become?  I  am  ambitious.  What  can  Madame 
de  Nucingen  do  for  me  in  future  ?  A  year  more  and  I 
shall  be  shelved  like  a  married  man.  I  have  all  the 
annoyances  of  married  life  and  celibacy  without  the 
advantages  of  either.  That 's  the  false  position  every 
man  gets  into  when  he  is  tied  too  long  to  the  same 
apron-strings." 

"Do  you  really  think  you  '11  better  yourself  here?  " 
said  Bianchon.  "Your  marquise,  my  dear  fellow, 
doesn't  please  me  at  all." 

"Those  liberal  opinions  of  yours  affect  your  sight. 
If  Madame  d'Espard  were  a  Madame  Rabourdin  —  " 


160  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"My  dear  friend,  be  she  noble  or  bourgeoise,  she 
will  always  be  without  a  soul,  the  most  consummate 
type  of  selfishness.  Believe  me,  physicians  are  accus- 
tomed to  judge  of  men  and  women  ;  the  ablest  of  us 
can  probe  the  soul  while  probing  the  body.  In  spite 
of  that  charming  boudoir  in  which  you  and  I  have  just 
passed  the  evening,  in  spite  of  the  luxury  of  that 
house,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  Madame  la  mar- 
quise is  in  debt." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"I  don't  say  it  is  so,  I  merely  suppose  it.  She 
talked  of  her  soul  as  the  late  King  Louis  XVIII.  used 
to  talk  of  his  heart.  Now  listen  to  me;  that  frail  little 
fair  woman  with  chestnut  hair,  who  complains  of 
weakness  for  the  sake  of  being  pitied,  is  really  in  the 
enjoyment  of  iron  health,  has  the  appetite  of  a  wolf, 
the  strength  and  treachery  of  a  tiger.  Never  was 
gauze,  silk,  muslin  more  cleverly  twisted  round  —  a 
Lie.     Ecco!" 

"You  frighten  me,  Bianchon.  You  must  have 
learned  a  good  deal  of  life  since  the  old  days  at 
Madame  Vauquer's." 

"Yes,  since  then,  my  dear  boy,  I  've  seen  dolls, 
puppets,  and  marionettes!  I  know  something  of  the 
manners  and  morals  of  fine  ladies.  We  doctors  spend 
ourselves,  our  time  and  strength,  to  save  their  beauty 
from  the  slightest  injury  ;  we  succeed,  we  keep  their 
secret  as  if  we  were  dead,  and  they  send  for  our  bills 
and  squabble  over  them!  Who  saved  them?  oh, 
simply  nature!  Far  from  praising  us  professionally, 
they  '11  say  evil  of  us,  fearing  lest  their  friends  should 
employ  us.     My  dear  Eugène,  these  very  women  whom 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  161 

you  think  angels  I  have  seen  stripped  of  all  the  little 
graces  with  which  they  cover  up  their  souls  ;  I  've  seen 
them  without  the  rags  that  conceal  their  imperfections, 
without  manners,  without  corset,  even,  and  I  tell  you 
they  are  not  beautiful  !  We  began,  you  and  I,  by  see- 
ing various  pools  and  much  filth  under  the  surface  of 
society  when  we  were  stranded  on  that  rock  at 
Vauquer's,  but  what  we  then  saw  was  nothing,  noth- 
ing !  Since  I  have  gone  much  among  the  upper  classes 
I  've  met  monsters  dressed  in  satin,  Michonneaus  in 
white  gloves,  Poirets  glittering  with  crosses,  great 
lords  better  at  usury  than  old  Gobseck  himself. 
Often,  when  I  have  been  called  upon  to  lend  a  helping 
hand  to  virtue,  I  have  found  it,  to  the  shame  of  man- 
hood I  say  it,  shivering  in  a  garret,  pursued  by  cal- 
umny, keeping  body  and  soul  together  on  a  paltry 
stipend,  and  called  a  fool  or  crazy,  an  original  or  a 
brute.  My  dear  Eugène,  your  marquise  is  a  fashion- 
able woman,  and  it  is  precisely  those  women  whom  I 
hold  in  horror.  Do  you  want  to  know  why  ?  A  woman 
of  high  mind,  pure  taste,  gentle  spirit,  a  heart  well 
filled,  and  who  leads  a  simple  life,  has  not  the  small- 
est chance  of  becoming  fashionable.  Draw  your  own 
conclusions.  A  fashionable  woman  and  a  man  in 
power  are  analogous,  but  with  this  difference:  the 
qualities  by  which  a  man  rises  above  his  fellows  make 
him  the  greater  personage  and  are  to  his  honor; 
whereas  the  qualities  by  which  a  woman  attains  to  her 
empire  of  a  day  are  vices  ;  she  perverts  her  nature  to 
hide  her  real  self;  and  to  lead  the  life  militant  of 
fashion  she  needs  a  constitution  of  iron  under  a  sem- 
blance of  fragility.     As  a  doctor  I  know  that  a  good 

11 


162  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

stomach  precludes  a  good  heart.  Your  fashionable 
woman  has  no  feelings  ;  her  fury  for  pleasure  is  caused 
by  the  desire  to  warm  up  her  frigid  nature  ;  she  wants 
emotions  and  enjoyments  like  an  old  man  who  hangs 
about  the  stairway  of  "the  Opera-house.  Having  more 
head  than  heart,  she  sacrifices  true  emotions  and 
friends  to  her  personal  triumph,  just  as  a  general  sends 
his  most  devoted  lieutenants  to  win  a  battle.  A  fash- 
ionable woman  is  no  longer  a  woman  ;  she  is  neither 
mother,  wife,  nor  mistress;  her  sex  is  in  her  brain, 
medically  speaking.  Your  marquise  has  all  the 
symptoms  of  her  worldliness,  —  the  beak  of  a  bird  of 
prey,  a  cold  light  eye  and  honeyed  speech  ;  she  is  as 
polished  as  a  steel  spring  ;  she  stirs  everything  except 
the  heart." 

''There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say,  Bianchon." 
"Some  truth!  "  exclaimed  Bianchon;  "it  is  all  true. 
Do  you  think  I  wasn't  conscious  of  the  insulting 
politeness  by  which  she  made  me  feel  the  imaginary 
distance  her  nobility  puts  between  us  ;  or  that  I  did  n't 
feel  a  deep  pity  for  her  catlike  fawning  as  I  thought 
of  its  object?  A  year  from  now  she  would  n't  lift  her 
finger  to  do  me  the  smallest  service,  but  to-night  she 
has  loaded  me -with  gracious  smiles,  thinking  that  I 
can  influence  my  uncle  Popinot,  on  whom  the  success 
of  her  suit  against  her  husband  depends." 

"My  dear  boy,  would  you  rather  she  had  taken  no 
notice  of  you?  I  admit  your  philippic  against  fashion- 
able women;  but  all  that's  beside  the  question.  I 
should,  under  any  circumstances,  prefer  a  Marquise 
d'Espard  to  the  most  retiring,  modest  young  creature 
on  earth.     Marry  an  angel,  indeed  !  and  go  and  bury 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  163 

your  happiness  in  the  country!  The  wife  of  a  public 
man  ought  to  be  a  government  machine,  a  mechanism 
of  fine  compliments  woven  of  silk  and  gold  ;  she  is  the 
first  and  most  faithful  instrument  of  an  ambitious 
man;  she's  a  friend  who  can  compromise  herself 
without  danger,  and  whose  actions  he  can  always  dis- 
avow. Suppose  Mohammed  in  Paris  in  the  nineteenth 
century!  His  wife  would  infallibly  be  a  Rohan,  a 
Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  refined  and  flattering  as  an 
ambassadress,  wily  as  Figaro.  Your  loving  woman 
leads  to  nothing;  a  fashionable  woman  leads  every- 
where ;  she  is  the  diamond  with  which  a  man  can  cut 
out  windows  when  he  has  not  the  golden  key  to  open 
doors.  To  the  burgher  the  burgher  virtues;  to  the 
man  of  ambition  the  vices  of  ambitious  men.  Besides, 
my  dear  fellow,  don't  you  know  that  the  love  of  a 
Duchesse  de  Langeais  or  de  Maufrigneuse  or  Lady 
Dudley  means  untold  pleasure  ?  If  you  only  knew  how 
the  cold  reserve  of  such  women  gives  value  to  the 
slightest  sign  of  their  regard  !  —  what  joy  to  see  the 
purple  of  a  violet  peeping  beneath  the  snow!  A  smile 
flickering  behind  a  fan  contradicts  the  conventional 
reserve,  and  is  worth  all  the  artless  demonstrations  of 
your  loving  bourgeoise.  Moreover,  a  woman  of  the 
world,  a  Blamont-Chauvry,  has  virtues  after  her  kind. 
Her  virtues  are  power,  fortune,  splendor,  and  a  cer- 
tain contempt  for  all  that  is  beneath  her  —  " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bianchon. 

"Old  Boniface!"  replied  Rastignac,  laughing. 
"Come,  don't  be  commonplace;  follow  the  example  of 
your  friend  Desplein;  get  yourself  made  a  baron,  a 
knight  of  the  Order  of  Saint-Michel,  become  a  peer  of 
France,  and  marry  your  daughters  to  dukes." 


164  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"I!  may  all  the  devils  of  hell  —  " 

"La!  la!  have  you  no  superiority  except  that  of 
doctoring?     I  declare  I  pity  you." 

"I  hate  such  people;  I  want  a  revolution  to  get  rid 
of  them." 

"Then,  my  old  lancet  of  a  Robespierre,  do  you 
mean  to  say  you  won't  go  and  see  your  uncle  Popinot 
to-morrow?" 

"I  don't  say  anything  of  the  kind,"  replied  Bian- 
chon;  "when  the  matter  concerns  you  I  'd  fetch  water 
from  hell  —  " 

"Dear  friend,  you  touch  my  heart.  I  've  sworn  that 
the  marquis  shall  be  proved  a  lunatic  —  " 

"But,"  continued  Horace,  "I  don't  promise  to  suc- 
ceed to  the  extent  you  wish  with  Jean- Jules  Popinot  ; 
you  don't  know  him.  But  I  do  promise  to  bring  him 
to  see  your  marquise  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  she  may 
get  the  better  of  him  if  she  can.  I  doubt  it.  All  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world,  all  the  duchesses,  all  the 
knives  of  all  the  guillotines  might  be  brought  to  bear, 
the  king  might  offer  him  a  peerage,  the  good  God 
might  promise  him  the  freedom  of  paradise  and  the 
revenues  of  purgatory,  and  not  one  of  all  those  powers 
could  make  him  swerve  one  hair's-breadth  in  doing 
his  duty.     He  is  a  judge  as  death  is  death." 

By  this  time  the  two  friends  had  reached  the  min- 
istry of  Foreign  Affairs  at  the  corner  of  the  Boulevard 
des  Capucines. 

"There  's  your  home,"  said  Bianchon,  laughing,  as 
he  nodded  toward  the  building,  "and  here  's  my  car- 
riage," summoning  a  cab.  "The  future  of  both  is 
foreshadowed." 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  165 

"  You  '11  always  be  happy  in  the  depths  of  your  pond  ; 
whereas  I  shall  keep  struggling  on  the  surface  with 
winds  and  waves  until  forced  to  go  under;  and  then 
I  '11  come  and  beg  a  place  in  your  grotto,  old  fellow." 

"Saturday,  then,"  said  Bianchon. 

"Agreed,"  replied  Eugène;  "you  promise  to  bring 
Popinot?" 

"Yes,  I  will  do  all  that  my  conscience  allows  me 
to  do.  Perhaps  this  petition  hides  some  little  dramo- 
rama,  as  we  used  to  say  in  the  good  old  struggling 
days." 

"Poor  Bianchon!  he  '11  never  be  anything  but  a 
worthy  man,"  thought  Rastignac,  as  the  cab  rolled 
away. 

"Rastignac  has  saddled  me  with  the  hardest  of  all 
negotiations,"  thought  Bianchon,  when  he  woke  the 
next  morning,  and  remembered  his  promise.  "But  I 
have  never  in  my  life  asked  my  uncle  for  the  slightest 
service  at  the  Palais,  though  I  've  paid  more  than  a 
thousand  visits  for  him  gratis.  Well,  anyhow,  he 
won't  trouble  himself;  he'll  say  yes  or  no,  and 
there'll  be  the  end  of  it." 

After  this  little  monologue,  the  celebrated  doctor 
started  at  seven  in  the  morning  for  the  rue  du  Fouarre, 
where  lived  Monsieur  Jean-Jules  Popinot,  judge  of 
one  of  the  Lower  Courts  of  the  department  of  the 
Seine. 

The  rue  du  Fouarre,  a  name  which  formerly  signified 
rue  du  Paille,  was  the  most  important  street  in  Paris 
in  the  thirteenth  century.  There  were  the  Schools  of 
the  University  where  the  voice  of  Abélard  and  that  of 
Gerson  echoed  through  the  world  of  knowledge.     It  is 


166  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

to-day  the  dirtiest  street  in  the  twelfth  arrondissement, 
the  poorest  quarter  of  Paris,  where  two-thirds  of  the 
population  lack  wood  in  winter,  and  from  which  more 
waifs  are  cast  at  the  doors  of  the  Foundling  Hospital, 
more  patients  are  sent  to  the  Hôtel-Dieu,  more  beggars 
fill  the  streets,  more  rag-pickers  rake  in  the  gutters, 
more  miserable  old  men  creep  along  on  the  sunny  side 
of  walls,  more  workmen  out  of  work  hang  about  the 
street-corners,  more  prisoners  are  taken  to  the  police- 
courts  than  in  any  other  quarter  of  Paris.  About  the 
middle  of  this  street,  -  which  is  always  damp,  for  its 
gutter  conveys  to  the  Seine  the  blackened  water  of 
several  dye-houses,  stands  an  old  building,  restored, 
no  doubt,  in  the  days  of  François  I.,  built  of  brick, 
supported  by  courses  and  copings  of  freestone.  Its 
solidity  is  proclaimed  by  an  external  shape  which  is 
not  unusual  in  certain  very  ancient  houses  in  Paris. 
It  has,  if  we  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  a  sort  of 
stomach,  produced  by  the  bulging  of  its  first  floor 
under  the  weight  of  the  second  and  third  floors,  al- 
though itself  supported  by  the  strong  stone  wall  of  the 
ground-floor.  At  first  sight  it  looks  as  if  the  mullions 
of  the  windows,  although  held  by  strong  stone  cas- 
ings, were  about  to  crack  in  two;  but  an  observer 
will  not  fail  to  note  that  this  old  house  has  one  char- 
acteristic in  common  with  the  Tour  de  Boulogne,  — 
the  old  bricks  and  the  worn  old  stones  preserve,  rigidly, 
their  centre  of  gravity. 

Like  all  houses  built  before  the  invention  of  car- 
riages, the  arch  of  the  gateway  is  very  low  and  resem- 
bles the  entrance  to  a  prison.  If  on  a  rainy  day  some 
pedestrian  should  take  shelter  beneath  its  low-vaulted 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  167 

roof  with  projecting  whitewashed  beams,  he  could  not 
fail  to  observe  the  picture  presented  by  the  interior 
regions  of  this  dwelling.  To  the  left  is  a  tiny  square 
garden,  which  allows  of  only  four  steps  in  all  direc- 
tions, —  a  garden  of  black  earth,  with  trellises  without 
vines,  where,  in  default  of  vegetation,  lie  the  shadows 
of  two  trees,  heaps  of  papers,  old  linen,  plaster  and 
other  rubbish  fallen  from  the  roof;  a  barren  scrap  of 
ground,  indeed,  where  time  has  cast,  on  its  surrounding 
walls,  on  the  trunks  of  the  trees  and  their  branches,  a 
powdery  something  that  resembles  soot.  Two  arcades 
are  on  the  garden  side  ;  two  others  are  opposite  to  the 
porte-cochère;  and  through  them  can  be  seen  the 
wooden  stairway  which  leads  up  to  the  apartments, 
the  baluster  of  which  is  a  marvel  of  iron-work;  so 
fantastic  were  the  prevailing  shapes  at  the  period 
when  it  was  wrought.  The  worn-out  stairs  now  trem- 
ble at  every  step. 

The  casings  of  the  doors  of  each  apartment  are 
brown  with  dirt  and  grease  and  dust,  and  the  doors 
themselves  are  double  and  covered  with  Utrecht  velvet 
studded  with  tarnished  nails  arranged  in  lozenge  form. 
These  remains  of  splendor  prove  that  in  the  days  of 
Louis  XIV.  the  house  was  inhabited  by  some  coun- 
cillor to  the  parliament,  or  rich  ecclesiastic,  or  perhaps 
by  the  treasurer  of  a  bureau  of  perquisites.  Such 
vestiges  of  former  splendor  bring  a  smile  to  our  lips 
by  a  naïve  contrast  of  the  present  with  the  past. 
Monsieur  Jean-Jules  Popinot  lived  on  the  first  floor  of 
this  house,  where  the  usual  obscurity  of  first  floors  in 
Parisian  houses  was  increased  by  the  narrowness  of 
the  street.     This  old  dwelling  was  known  throughout 


168  A  Commission  in  Lunacy, 

the  length  and  breadth  of  the  twelfth  arrondissement; 
a  region  for  which  Divine  Providence  had  provided 
this  magistrate  as  it  provides  a  beneficent  plant  or  herb 
to  heal  or  alleviate  every  disease.  Here  follows  a 
sketch  of  this  personage,  whom  the  brilliant  Marquise 
d'Espard  was  now  desirous  of  seducing. 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  169 


II. 

THE    JUDGE    ILL-JUDGED. 

In  his  capacity  as  magistrate,  Monsieur  Popinot 
was  always  clothed  in  black;  a  peculiarity  which  con- 
tributed to  make  him  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  persons 
who  are  in  the  habit  of  judging  all  things  superfi- 
cially. Men  who  seek  to  maintain  their  dignity  by 
such  clothing  ought,  undoubtedly,  to  subject  them- 
selves to  minute  and  continual  care  of  it;  but  this 
dear  Monsieur  Popinot  was  absolutely  incapable  of 
producing  upon  himself  the  puritanical  neatness  which 
the  wearing  of  black  demands.  His  trousers,  always 
shabby,  seemed  of  the  stuff  called  voile,  of  which  bar- 
risters' gowns  are  made;  and  long  usage  had  produced 
such  innumerable  creases  that  in  certain  places  white 
or  red  or  shiny  stripes  appeared,  revealing  either  sordid 
avarice  or  abject  poverty.  His  coarse  woollen  socks 
grinned  from  the  sides  of  his  misshapen  shoes.  His 
linen  had  that  rusty  look  caused  by  long  lying-by  in 
drawers  and  wardrobes,  —  proving  that  the  late 
Madame  Popinot  was  afflicted  with  the  linen  mania  ; 
true,  no  doubt,  to  Flemish  customs,  the  family  wash- 
ing was  probably  done  but  twice  a  year.  The  coat 
and  waistcoat  of  the  excellent  magistrate  were  in 
keeping  with  his  trousers,  shoes,  stockings,  and  linen. 
He  had  the  luck  of  his  slovenliness  ;  for  whenever  it 


170  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

came  to  pass  that  he  bought  a  new  coat  he  conformed 
it  to  the  rest  of  his  apparel  by  getting  it  spotted  with 
inexplicable  promptitude.  The  goodman  waited  for 
his  cook  to  tell  him  of  the  shabbiness  of  his  hat 
before  he  got  another.  His  cravat  was  always  awry, 
and  never  did  he  straighten  his  crumpled  shirt-collar 
when  his  judge's  bands  had  set  it  askew.  He  took  no 
care  of  his  grizzled  hair,  and  seldom  shaved  more  than 
twice  a  week.  He  never  wore  gloves,  but  rammed  his 
hands  habitually  into  his  pockets,  the  openings  to 
which,  always  dirty  and  nearly  always  torn,  added 
one  feature  more  to  the  general  neglect  of  his  person. 

Whoso  has  frequented  the  Palais  de  justice  in  Paris, 
a  place  where  all  varieties  of  black  garments  may  be 
observed,  can  readily  picture  to  his  mind's  eye  the 
appearance  of  Monsieur  Popinot.  The  habit  of  being 
seated  all  day  long  affects  the  body  to  a  great  degree, 
just  as  the  tedium  of  listening  to  interminable  plead- 
ings affects  the  physiognomy  of  magistrates.  Shut  up 
in  ridiculously  narrow  rooms,  without  dignity  of 
architecture,  where  the  air  is  soon  vitiated,  the  Par- 
isian judge  is  forced  to  acquire  a  frowning  visage, 
puckered  by  listening  and  saddened  by  ennui;  his 
skin  gets  sickly  and  takes  on  a  greenish  or  an  earthy 
tint,  according  to  the  temperament  of  the  individual. 
In  fact,  the  most  blooming  young  man  would  become, 
within  a  given  time,  a  pale  machine,  a  mechanism 
applying  the  Code  to  all  sorts  of  cases  with  the  phlegm 
of  a  clock's  mainspring. 

If,  therefore,  Nature  had  not  endowed  Monsieur 
Popinot  with  an  agreeable  exterior,  the  magistracy 
had   certainly  not   embellished  it.     His    bony  frame 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  171 

presented  knotty  joints.  His  big  knees,  his  large 
feet,  his  large  hands  contrasted  oddly  with  a  sacer- 
dotal face,  vaguely  resembling  a  calf's  head,  gentle  to 
insipidity,  poorly  lighted  by  whitish  green  eyes, 
drained  of  its  blood,  divided  in  two  by  a  long  flat 
nose,  surmounted  by  a  forehead  without  intellectual 
protuberance,  and  flanked  by  a  pair  of  enormous  ears 
which  flopped  gracelessly. 

One  sole  feature  made  this  face  acceptable  to  a 
physiognomist.  The  lips  of  the  man's  mouth  ex- 
pressed a  kindness  that  was  well-nigh  divine.  They 
were  thick  red  lips  with  countless  creases  ;  they  were 
mobile,  they  curved,  and  on  them  nature  had  imprinted 
the  noblest  sentiments.  They  were  lips  that  spoke  to 
the  heart  and  revealed  in  this  old  man  clearness  of 
mind,  the  gift  of  second-sight,  and  an  angelic  spirit; 
therefore  you  would  ill  have  judged  him  bad  you  done 
so  only  by  his  retreating  forehead,  his  eyes  without 
warmth,  and  his  pitiable  appearance.  His  life  corre- 
sponded to  his  countenance  ;  it  was  worn  by  incessant 
toil,  and  it  covered  the  virtues  of  a  saint. 

His  great  legal  acquirements  had  made  him  so  well 
known  that  when  Napoleon  reorganized  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  law  in  1806  and  1811,  Popinot  was,  on  the 
advice  of  Cambacérès,  among  the  first  to  be  appointed 
judge  of  the  Imperial  court  of  Paris.  Popinot  was 
no  intriguer.  At  each  new  crisis,  each  new  demand 
for  office,  the  ministry  set  Popinot  aside  in  favor  of 
more  exacting  claims  ;  for  the  good  man  never  set  foot 
in  the  houses  of  the  arch-chancellor  or  the  chief-jus- 
tice. He  was  gradually  shoved  aside  on  all  lists  for 
promotion  by  the  more  active  aud  pushing  men;  until, 


172  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

finally,  he  was  made  a  substitute  judge.  Then  a  gen- 
eral outcry  arose  at  the  Palais:  "Popinot  a  substitute 
judge!"  The  injustice  of  the  act  struck  the  whole 
legal  world,  barristers,  solicitors,  clerks,  everybody, 
except  Popinot  himself,  who  made  no  complaint  of  it. 
The  first  clamor  over,  every  one  came  to  think  that, 
on  the  whole,  it  was  for  the  fyest  in  this  best  of  all 
possible  worlds,  —  which,  certainly,  must  be  the  legal 
world. 

Popinot  continued  to  be  a  substitute  judge  until  the 
day  came  when  a  distinguished  Keeper  of  the  Seals, 
during  the  Restoration,  avenged  the  wrong  done  to  the 
modest,  silent  man  by  the  great  officers  of  the  Empire. 
After  being  a  substitute  judge  for  a  dozen  years,  Mon- 
sieur Popinot  was,  no  doubt,  fated  to  die  in  the  sub- 
ordinate position  of  an  examining  judge  in  one  of  the 
Lower  courts  of  the  Seine. 

To  explain  the  obscure  fate  of  one  of  the  most  supe- 
rior men  the  bench  has  ever  known,  it  is  necessary  to 
enter  into  certain  considerations  which  will  serve  to 
explain  his  life  and  character,  and  will  also  reveal 
something  of  the  running-gear  of  that  great  machine 
called  the  Law.  Monsieur  Popinot  was  rated  by  three 
successive  presidents  of  the  Seine  courts  in  a  category 
of  judgery,  the  only  word  that  expresses  the  idea  we 
desire  to  convey.  He  did  not  obtain  from  any  of  them 
the  reputation  for  capacity  which  his  work  had 
already  deserved.  Just  as  a  painter  is  relegated  into 
a  certain  category  —  that  of  landscape,  portrait,  his- 
torical, marine,  or  genre  painting  —  by  the  public  of 
artists,  connoisseurs,  and  ninnies,  who,  out  of  envy 
or  critical  omnipotence  or  prejudice,  barricade  him  in 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  173 

his  own  intellect,  so  Popinot  was  given  his  limits,  and 
was  hemmed  in  to  them. 

Judges,  barristers,  and  lawyers,  generally,  all  those 
who  pasture  on  judicial  territory,  recognize  two  ele- 
ments to  every  cause:  legality  and  equity.  Equity 
derives  from  facts  alone,  legality  is  the  application  of 
principles  to  facts.  A  man  may  be  right  in  equity, 
and  wrong  legally,  without  blame  to  the  judge  for  his 
decision.  Between  the  man's  consciousness  and  his 
act,  there  is  a  mass  of  determining  reasons  unknown 
to  the  judge,  but  which,  in  fact,  condemn  or  legitima- 
tize an  act.  A  judge  is  not  God:  his  duty  is  to  adapt 
facts  to  principles  ;  to  judge  them  in  infinite  variety 
by  the  application  of  one  test.  If  the  judge  had  the 
power  of  reading  consciences  and  discerning  motives 
so  as  to  render  absolutely  just  judgments,  he  would 
be  the  greatest  of  men.  France  employs  about  six 
thousand  judges;  no  generation  has  six  thousand 
great  men  at  her  service. 

Popinot,  in  the  centre  of  Parisian  civilization,  was 
a  very  able  cadi,  who,  by  the  constitution  of  his  mind, 
and  by  dint  of  rubbing  the  letter  of  the  law  into  the 
spirit  of  the  facts,  had  come  to  see  the  great  defect  of 
arbitrary  applications.  Aided  by  his  strong  judicial 
second-sight,  he  pierced  through  the  double  layer  of 
falsehood  with  which  a  legal  advocate  hides  the  real 
kernel  of  a  case.  A  judge  in  the  same  sense  that  the 
great  Desplein  was  a  surgeon,  he  could  penetrate  a 
conscience  as  Desplein  saw  into  a  body.  His  life 
and  his  morals  had  led  him  to  an  exact  appreciation 
of  the  most  secret  thoughts  through  his  scrutiny  of 
acts.     He  burrowed  into  a  case  as  Cuvier  burrowed 


174  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

into  the  soil  of  the  globe.  Like  that  great  thinker,  he 
went  from  deduction  to  deduction  before  he  drew  con- 
clusions, and  reproduced  the  past  of  a  conscience  as 
Cuvier  reconstructed  an  anoplotherium.  Apropos  of 
a  decision,  he  would  often  wake  up  in  the  night, 
roused  suddenly  by  some  ray  of  truth  which  darted 
vividly  into  his  mind.  Struck  with  the  deep  injustice 
which  frequently  ends  a  legal  struggle,  in  which  so 
much  is  to  the  scoundrel's  profit,  and  so  little  serves 
an  honest  man,  he  often  gave  a  judgment  in  favor  of 
equity  rather  than  legality  in  cases  where  the  question 
admitted  of  intuition.  Consequently  his  colleagues 
regarded  him  as  unpractical;  besides,  his  reasons, 
stated  at  great  length,  prolonged  their  deliberations. 
When  Popinot  discovered  their  unwillingness  to  listen 
to  him  he  took  pains  to  give  his  opinion  more  briefly. 
He  was  said  to  be  a  bad  udge  of  all  affairs  into  which 
equity  could  enter,  but  as  his  genius  of  appreciation 
was  very  striking,  his  judgment  lucid,  his  penetration 
deep,  he  was  considered  to  possess  a  special  aptitude 
for  the  laborious  duties  of  an  examining  judge.  Thus 
it  was  that  he  remained  during  the  greater  part  of  his 
judicial  career  in  that  capacity. 

Although  his  qualifications  made  him  eminently 
fitted  for  that  arduous  office,  yet  the  kindness  of  his 
heart  kept  him  ever  on  the  rack  ;  he  was  constantly 
held  as  in  a  vice  between  his  conscience  and  his  pity. 
The  functions  of  an  examining  judge,  though  better 
paid  than  those  of  a  civil  judge,  tempt  no  one,  for 
they  are  too  confining.  Popinot,  modest,  virtuous, 
without  ambition  and  indefatigable,  never  complained  ; 
he  made  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  tastes,  his  own  tender- 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  175 

heartedness  to  the  public  good,  and  allowed  himself 
to  be  kept  down  to  the  slavery  of  criminal  law,  where, 
indeed,  he  contrived  to  be  both  just  and  beneficent. 
Sometimes  his  usher  would  secretly  give  a  prisoner 
the  money  to  buy  tobacco  or  get  a  warm  garment  for 
winter,  as  he  led  the  man  back  from  the  judge's  office 
to  the  Souricière,  —  the  strong  room  at  the  Palais, 
where  the  prisoners  waited  until  the  judges  were  ready 
to  examine  them. 

Popinot  knew  the  secret  of  being  an  inflexible  judge 
and  a  merciful  man.  Consequently,  no  one  was  able 
to  obtain  confessions  as  easily  as  he,  without  having 
recourse  to  the  judicial  wiles  of  an  examining  judge. 
He  had,  besides,  the  shrewdness  of  an  observer. 
This  man,  almost  silly  in  countenance,  simple  and 
absent-minded,  was  able  to  detect  the  wiliest  schemes 
of  the  Crispins  of  the  galleys  ;  he  could  foil  the  most 
astute  of  wantons,  and  melt  the  heart  of  the  veriest 
scoundrel.  Circumstances  that  are  quite  uncommon 
had  sharpened  his  natural  perspicacity;  but  in  order 
to  state  them,  it  is  necessary  to  glance  into  his  private 
life,  for  his  character  as  a  judge  was  exercised  solely 
on  the  social  and  outward  side  of  him  ;  within  was 
another  man,  grander,  and  little  known. 

Twelve  years  before  this  present  history  begins,  in 
1816,  during  the  terrible  famine  which  coincided 
fatally  with  the  stay  of  the  so-called  Allies  in  France, 
Popinot  was  appointed  president  of  a  special  com- 
mittee instituted  to  distribute  relief  to  the  starving 
people  of  his  quarter,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was 
planning  to  leave  the  rue  du  Fouarre,  a  place  of 
residence  as  displeasing   to  himself   as  to  his  wife. 


176  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

The  great  lawyer,  the  expert  criminal  judge,  whose 
very  superiority  seemed  to  his  colleagues  weakness, 
had,  for  the  last  five  years,  observed  the  results  of 
judicial  action  without  studying  their  causes.  But 
now,  as  he  climbed  to  garrets  and  came  face  to  face 
with  poverty,  as  he  studied  the  hard  necessities  which 
gradually  brought  the  poor  and  suffering  to  wrong 
actions,  and  took  the  measure  of  their  bitter  griefs,  he 
was  seized  with  compassion.  The  upright  judge  be- 
came, henceforth,  the  Saint  Vincent  de  Paul  of  those 
grown  children,  those  suffering  workmen. 

His  transformation  did  not  at  once  attain  to  wis- 
dom. Benevolence  has  its  moments  of  rashly  yielding 
to  temptation  like  vice.  Charity  can  empty  the  purse 
of  a  saint,  as  roulette  absorbs  the  property  of  a  gam- 
bler. Popinot  went  from  one  misfortune  to  another, 
bestowing  alms  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left  ;  then, 
after  raising  the  rags  which  cover  like  a  compress  the 
fevered  wound  of  that  great  public  wretchedness,  he  be- 
came, at  the  end  of  a  year,  the  providence  of  his  quarter 
of  the  city.  He  was  president,  as  we  have  said,  of  the 
committee  of  benevolence  and  the  bureau  of  charity. 
Wherever  gratuitous  work  was  needed,  there  he  toiled 
without  pretension,  like  the  "Man  with  the  short  cloak," 
who  spent  his  life  carrying  soup  to  hungry  families. 

Popinot  had  the  happiness,  however,  of  acting  in  a 
higher  sphere.  He  foresaw  everything;  he  prevented 
crime  ;  he  provided  work  for  those  who  were  out  of  it  ; 
he  placed  the  helpless  where  they  were  cared  for;  he 
distributed  all  succor  with  discernment  ;  he  made  him- 
self the  adviser  of  the  widow,  the  guardian  of  the 
fatherless,  and  the  secret  partner  of  many  a  little  trade. 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  177 

No  one  at  the  Palais  or  in  Paris  knew  of  this  hidden 
life.  There  are  virtues  so  dazzling  that  they  are  com- 
fortable only  in  obscurity;  those  who  practise  them 
hasten  to  put  their  light  under  a  bushel.  As  for  the 
people  whom  he  succored,  they  all,  working  by  day 
and  weary  at  night,  made  no  talk  of  his  kindness; 
ungrateful  as  children,  who  can  never  pay  their  debt 
of  gratitude  because  they  owe  so  much.  There  is  such 
a ,  thing  as  forced  ingratitude.  But  what  true  heart 
ever  sowed  beneficence  for  the  purpose  of  reaping 
gratitude,  and  of  thinking  its  own  deeds  great? 

After  the  second  year  of  this  secret  apostleship, 
Popinot  converted  the  ground -floor  of  his  house  into 
one  large  receiving-room,  which  was  lighted  by  three 
windows  with  iron  bars,  opening  on  the  street.  The 
walls  and  ceiling  of  this  large  room  were  white- 
washed, and  the  furniture  consisted  of  wooden  benches 
like  those  in  schools,  a  common  closet,  a  walnut  desk 
and  an  arm-chair.  In  the  closet  were  the  registers  in 
which  he  kept  the  record  of  his  cases,  the  blanks  for 
his  "bread  tickets,"  and  his  day-book.  He  kept  his 
books  in  a  business  manner,  that  he  might  not  be  the 
dupe  of  his  own  heart.  AU  the  poverty  of  the  quarter 
was  carefully  registered,  each  case  having  its  own 
account,  like  that  of  a  customer  on  the  books  of  a  mer- 
chant. When  he  felt  in  doubt  about  a  family,  or  an 
individual  who  applied  for  help,  he  had  recourse  to 
the  police  of  the  district.  His  servant,  Lavienne,  a 
man  made  for  such  a  master,  was  his  aide-de-camp. 
Lavienne  released  or  renewed  all  articles  in  pawn  ;  he 
visited  the  most  poverty-stricken  places  and  families 
while  Popinot  was  busy  at  the  Palais. 

12 


178  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

From  four  to  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  sum- 
mer, and  from  six  to  nine  in  winter,  the  huge  room 
on  the  ground-floor  was  crowded  with  women,  children, 
and  indigent  persons,  to  whom  Popinot  gave  audience. 
There  was  no  need  of  a  stove  in  winter,  for  the  swarm 
of  bodies  created  a  stifling  atmosphere.  Lavienne, 
however,  took  the  precaution  to  cover  the  damp  floor 
with  straw.  By  dint  of  constant  usage  the  benches 
were  as  polished  as  varnished  mahogany,  and  the 
walls,  to  a  man's  height,  had  received  a  coating  of 
some  unspeakable  tint  from  the  rags  and  dilapidated 
garments  of  these  poor  people.  The  unfortunate 
creatures  were  so  attached  to  Popinot  that  when  in  the 
early  morning  they  clustered  about  the  door  before 
it  opened  (the  women  trying  to  keep  warm  with  their 
hands  under  their  rags,  the  men  by  beating  their 
arms),  not  a  voice  was  raised  above  a  whisper  lest  it 
might  trouble  his  sleep. 

The  rag-pickers,  that  race  of  nocturnal  beings,  knew 
the  house  well,  and  often  looked  up  to  see  the  judge's 
window  lighted  at  untimely  hours.  Thieves  passing 
along  the  street  would  say  to  each  other,  "That's  his 
house,"  and  they  respected  it.  The  judge's  day  was 
divided  as  follows  :  the  mornings  belonged  to  the  poor  ; 
the  middle  of  the  day  to  criminals;  the  evenings  to 
judicial  toil. 

The  genius  of  observation  which  characterized 
Popinot  was  therefore  twofold  in  its  application;  he 
divined  the  virtues  of  poverty, —  good  feelings  crushed, 
noble  actions  in  embryo,  self-devotions  invisible,  — 
just  as  he  saw  in  the  depths  of  consciences  the  faint- 
est outlines  of  crime,  the  finest  threads  of  delinquency. 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  179 

Popinot's  patrimony  amounted  to  three  thousand 
francs  a  year.  His  wife,  sister  to  Horace  Bianchon's 
father,  a  doctor  at  Sancerre,  had  brought  him  about 
twice  as  much.  She  had  now  been  dead  five  years 
and  had  left  all  her  property  to  her  husband.  As 
the  salary  of  a  substitute  judge  was  not  considerable, 
and  Popinot  had  only  become  an  examining  judge 
within  the  last  four  years,  it  is  easy  to  guess  the 
cause  of  his  parsimony  in  clothes  and  in  all  that 
concerned  himself  and  own  life,  when  we  reflect  on 
the  smallness  of  his  income  and  the  greatness  of 
his  beneficence.  Besides,  taking  another  view  of  it, 
indifference  in  the  matter  of  clothes  is  a  distinctive 
mark  of  the  higher  knowledge,  of  art  madly  wor- 
shipped, of  thought  perpetually  active.  To  complete 
this  portrait  it  suffices  to  add  that  Popinot  was  one  of 
the  few  judges  of  the  courts  of  the  Seine  on  whom 
the  Legion  of  honor  was  not  bestowed. 

Such  was  the  man  whom  the  chief-justice  of  the 
Second  Court,  to  which  Popinot  belonged,  had  ap- 
pointed to  make  an  examination  into  the  condition  of 
the  Marquis  d'Espard  on  a  petition  presented  by  the 
wife  for  a  commission  in  lunacy. 

The  rue  du  Fouarre,  where  so  many  miserable  crea- 
tures swarmed  in  the  early  mornings,  became  deserted 
after  nine  o'clock,  resuming  at  that  hour  its  usual 
gloomy  and  forlorn  aspect.  Bianchon  therefore 
pressed  his  horse,  wishing  to  come  upon  his  uncle  in 
the  midst  of  his  audience.  He  thought,  not  without 
a  smile,  of  the  singular  contrast  the  judge  would 
present  to  the  salons  of  Madame  d'Espard;  and  he 
resolved  to  persuade  him  into  wearing  clothes  that 
should  not  seem  absolutely  ridiculous. 


180  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"I  wonder  if  lie  has  such  a  thing  as  a  new  coat," 
thought  Bianchon,  as  he  entered  the  rue  du  Fouarre, 
where  the  windows  of  the  lower  room  were  faintly 
lighted.  "I  think  I  had  better  consult  Lavienne 
about  it." 

At  the  unwonted  sound  of  wheels  a  dozen  poor 
wretches  came  out  on  the  steps,  and  pulled  off  their 
hats  on  seeing  the  doctor;  for  Bianchon,  who  treated 
his  uncle's  clients  gratuitously,  was  almost  as  well 
known  among  them  as  the  judge  himself. 

Bianchon  now  beheld  his  uncle  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  the  benches  all  around  him  swarming  with 
paupers  in  the  most  grotesque  singularities  of  cos- 
tume; the  sight  of  which  would  have  filled  the  least 
artistic  individual  with  delight  and  wonder.  Cer- 
tainly a  Rembrandt,  did  any  exist  in  our  day,  might 
have  conceived  from  the  sight  of  the  silent  misery 
artlessly  posing  there  the  noblest  of  compositions. 
Here  the  rugged  face  of  a  stern  old  man  with  a  white 
beard  and  apostolic  skull,  presented  a  Saint  Peter 
made  to  hand.  His  breast,  partly  uncovered,  showed 
prominent  muscles,  indications  of  an  iron  constitu- 
tion which  had  enabled  him  to  bear  so  far  an  epic  of 
sorrow.  There  a  young  woman  suckling  her  last  child 
to  keep  it  from  crying,  was  holding  another,  a  boy 
about  five  years  old,  between  her  knees.  Her  breast, 
the  whiteness  of  which  was  shining  through  her  rags, 
the  child  with  transparent  skin,  the  brother  whose 
attitude  betrayed  a  future  gamin,  touched  the  soul 
of  an  onlooker  by  the  sort  of  graceful  contrast  it 
offered  to  the  long  file  of  dreary  faces  reddened  by 
the  cold  which  surrounded  this  poor  family.     Farther 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  181 

on,  an  old  woman,  pale  and  hard,  presented  that 
repulsive  type  of  pauperism  in  revolt,  ready  to  avenge 
itself  in  one  day's  riot  for  all  its  past  misery.  There, 
too,  was  the  workman,  young,  debilitated,  and  out  of 
work  ;  whose  intelligent  eye  showed  faculties  repressed 
by  wants  fought  with  hopelessly  ;  silent  about  his  suffer- 
ings, yet  dying  from  lack  of  opportunity  to  break  his 
way  through  the  bars  of  that  cage  of  misery  where  so 
many  needs  were  swarming.  Women  were  in  the 
majority  ;  the  husbands,  who  had  gone  to  their  work- 
shops, left  their  wives  to  plead  the  cause  of  their 
poor  homes  with  that  wit  which  characterizes  the 
women  of  the  people,  who  are  nearly  always  queens 
in  their  hovel.  On  all  those  heads  were 'seen  torn 
foulards,  on  all  those  bodies  mud-bedraggled  skirts, 
frayed  kerchiefs,  dirty  short-gowns,  and  eyes  that 
shone  like  so  many  live  flames.  Horrible  combina- 
tion! the  first  sight  of  which  inspired  disgust,  but 
presently  caused  a  sort  of  terror,  when  it  was  seen 
that  the  humble  resignation  of  these  souls  struggling 
against  every  want  of  life,  was  simply  assumed  as  a 
means  of  speculation  on  benevolence.  Two  candles 
which  lighted  the  vast  room  flickered  in  the  sort  of 
fog  caused  by  the  fetid  atmosphere  of  this  ill-ventilated 
place. 

The  judge  was  by  no  means  the  least  picturesque 
person  in  this  assemblage.  On  his  head  was  a  rusty 
cotton  night-cap.  As  he  wore  no  cravat,  his  neck, 
red  with  cold,  and  much  wrinkled,  rose  sharply  above 
the  ragged  collar  of  his  old  dressing-gown.  His  tired 
face  bore  the  half-stupid  expression  of  great  preoccu- 
pation of  mind.     His  mouth,  in  common  with  that  of 


182  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

most  hard  workers,  was  drawn  together  like  a  purse 
with  its  strings  tied.  His  forehead,  contracted  by 
close  attention,  seemed  to  bear  the  weight  of  the  con- 
fidences that  were  being  made  to  him;  he  felt, 
analyzed,  and  judged  them  all.  Attentive  as  a  money- 
lender by  "the  little  week,"  his  eyes  left  the  pages  of 
his  register  to  pierce  to  the  inner  being  of  the  appli- 
cant, whom  he  examined  with  that  rapidity  of  vision 
by  which  misers  quiet  their  suspicions. 

Standing  behind  his  master,  and  ready  to  execute 
his  orders,  Lavienne  was  keeping  order,  receiving  the 
new-comers  and  encouraging  their  timidity.  When 
the  doctor  entered,  a  movement  seemed  to  take  place 
along  the  benches.  Lavienne  turned  his  head  and 
was  much  surprised  to  see  Bianchon. 

"Ah!  there  you  are,  my  boy,"  said  Popinot,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand.  "What  brings  you  here  at  this 
time  of  day?" 

"I  was  afraid  you  might  make  a  certain  judicial 
visit  about  which  I  have  come  to  talk,  before  I  had  a 
chance  to  see  you." 

"Well,"  resumed  the  judge,  addressing  himself  to  a 
stout  little  woman  who  was  standing  by,  "if  you  don't 
tell  me  what  the  trouble  is  I  can't  guess  it,  my  girl." 

"Make  haste,"  said  Lavienne;  "don't  take  other 
folks'  time." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  woman  at  last,  coloring  high, 
and  dropping  her  voice  so  that  none  but  the  judge 
and  Lavienne  should  hear  her.  "I  peddle  fruit,  and 
I  owed  for  the  board  of  my  last  baby,  and  so  I  was 
laying  by  my  poor  earnings  —  " 

"Well,  and  your  husband  took  them,"  said  Popinot, 
divining  the  end  of  the  confession. 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  183 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"La  Pompoune." 

"And  your  husband's?" 

"Toupinet." 

"Rue  du  Petit-Banquier?"  continued  Popinot,  re- 
ferring to  the  pages  of  his  register.  "He  is  in 
prison,"  he  added,  reading  a  remark  written  on  the 
margin  of  a  report  of  the  case. 

"For  debt  only,  my  dear  monsieur." 

Popinot  nodded. 

"But,  monsieur,  I  haven't  money  enough  to  buy 
fruit  for  my  barrow;  and  the  landlord  he  came  yes- 
terday and  forced  me  to  pay  him,  or  else  be  turned 
out  into  the  street." 

Lavienne  stooped  to  his  master  and  said  a  few 
words  in  his  ear. 

"Well,  how  much  do  you  want  to  buy  your  fruit 
in  the  market?" 

"Ah!  my  dear  monsieur,  I  should  want,  to  carry  on 
my  business,  —  yes,  I  should  want,  —  at  least  ten 
francs." 

The  judge  made  a  sign  to  Lavienne,  who  took  the 
ten  francs  from  a  large  bag  and  gave  them  to  the 
woman,  while  the  judge  entered  the  loan  upon  one  of 
his  books.  Seeing  the  thrill  of  joy  that  passed  over 
the  woman's^  whole  body,  Bianchon  divined  the  anxiety 
with  which  the  poor  creature  had  doubtless  come  to  the 
judge's  house. 

"Your  turn,"  said  Lavienne  to  the  old  man  with  the 
white  beard. 

Bianchon  took  the  servant  aside  and  asked  how  long 
these  interviews  were  likely  to  last. 


184  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"Monsieur  has  seen  a  hundred  persons  already,  and 
there  are  fifty  more  to  do"  said  Lavienne.  " Mon- 
sieur will  have  time  to  pay  his  first  visits  and  return." 

"My  boy,"  said  the  judge,  turning  round  and 
seizing  Horace  by  the  arms,  "see;  here  are  two  ad- 
dresses, not  far  from  here,  —  one  rue  de  Seine,  the 
other  rue  de  l'Arbalète.  Just  run  round  there,  will 
you?  Rue  de  Seine  there  's  a  young  girl  who  has  tried 
to  smother  herself;  and  you  '11  find,  rue  de  l'Arbalète, 
a  man  who  ought  to  go  to  your  hospital.  I'll  wait 
breakfast  for  you." 

Bianchon  returned  in  about  an  hour.  The  rue  du 
Fouarre  was  by  that  time  deserted;  day  was  dawning; 
his  uncle  was  ready  to  go  upstairs,  for  the  last  poor 
wretch  whose  misery  he  had  lessened  was  just  depart- 
ing, and  Lavienne's  bag  was  empty. 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  as  they  went  upstairs,  "how 
are  they  ?  " 

"The  man  is  dead,"  replied  Bianchon;  "the  girl 
will  pull  through." 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  185 


III. 

THE    PETITION. 

Ever  since  the  hand  and  eye  of  a  wife  had  been 
lacking  to  the  abode  of  Popinot,  his  apartments  had 
assumed  an  appearance  that  was  quite  in  keeping  with 
that  of  their  master.  The  slovenliness  of  the  man  lost 
in  commanding  thought  had  placed  its  grotesque  seal 
on  all  things.  Everywhere  inveterate  dust;  every- 
where that  distortion  of  the  use  of  things  which  may 
be  noticed  to  some  extent  in  all  bachelor  establish- 
ments, —  documents  in  flower- vases,  empty  ink-bottles 
everywhere,  forgotten  plates,  tinder-boxes  converted 
into  candlesticks  in  the  hurry  of  a  search,  partial  re- 
pairs and  alterations,  begun  and  never  finished,  leaving 
an  encumbering  mass  of  things  in  one  place  and  bar- 
renness in  others,  occasioned  by  spasmodic  and  futile 
attempts   at  putting  things  in  order. 

But  the  judge's  study,  more  particularly  the  scene 
of  this  incessant  disorder,  bore  witness  to  his  pause- 
less  activity,  to  the  hurry  of  a  man  overwhelmed  with 
business,  pursued  by  ever  increasing  demands  upon 
him.  The  book-shelves  looked  pillaged  ;  the  volumes 
were  flung  upon  it;  some  on  their  backs  with  the 
pages  open,  others  face  down;  legal  documents  and 
papers    heaped   in   piles   against    the    lower    shelves 


186  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

encumbered  the  floor  ;  and  the  floor  itself  had  not  been 
rubbed  for  years. 

The  tables  and  other  furniture  were  covered  with 
votive  offerings  made  to  the  judge  by  grateful  poverty. 
Bouquets  of  artificial  flowers,  and  paintings  in  which 
Popinot's  initials  were  wreathed  with  hearts  and 
immortelles  decorated  the  walls.  On  a  pair  of  blue 
crystal  horns  which  adorned  the  chimney-piece  were 
two  glass  globes  within  which  were  divers  mingled 
colors,  giving  them  the  appearance  of  some  curious 
product  of  nature.  Here  were  oddly  turned  boxes, 
pretentiously  made,  of  no  possible  use.  There,  were 
paper-weights  and  pen-holders  made  in  the  style  of 
such  work  done  at  the  galleys  by  convicts.  These 
triumphs  of  patience,  this  trumpery  of  gratitude,  these 
paper  bouquets,  gave  to  the  judge's  study  and  bedroom 
something  the  aspect  of  a  toy-shop.  The  worthy 
soul  made  mementos  of  these  works  of  art;  he  stuffed 
them  with  memoranda,  disused  pens,  and  little  papers. 

These  sublime  testimonials  to  divine  charity  were 
very  dusty  and,  mostly,  dilapidated.  A  few  birds, 
well-stuffed,  but  eaten  by  maggots,  stood  up  amid  the 
forest  of  odds  and  ends  in  which  the  dominant  object 
was  the  favorite  angora  of  the  late  Madame  Popinot, 
restored  to  a  semblance  of  life  by  some  penniless 
naturalist,  who  probably  repaid  by  this  eternal  treasure 
a  slender  alms.  An  artist  of  the  quarter,  whose 
heart  misled  his  brush,  had  painted  the  portraits  of 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Popinot.  Lower  in  the  scale 
of  art  were  charcoal  landscapes,  paper  crosses  cut  out 
in  open-work  patterns  with  incredible  labor,  and  even 
embroidered  pin-cushions. 


,    A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  187 

The  window-curtains  were  blackened  with  smoke, 
and  the  color  of  the  draperies  could  no  longer  be  dis- 
tinguished. Between  the  fireplace  in  the  study  and 
the  long  table  where  the  judge  worked,  the  cook  had 
served  two  cups  of  coffee  on  a  small  round  stand. 
Two  mahogany  arm-chairs  covered  with  horse-hair 
awaited  the  uncle  and  nephew.  As  the  light,  inter- 
cepted by  the  windows,  did  not  as  yet  fill  the  room, 
the  cook  had  also  provided  two  tallow  candles,  the 
immeasurably  long  wicks  of  which,  forming  what  are 
called  toadstools,  cast  that  lurid  light  which  makes  a 
candle  last  the  longer  by  reason  of  its  slow  combus- 
tion, —  a  discovery  due  to  misers. 

"My  dear  uncle,  you  really  ought  to  dress  more 
warmly  when  you  go  down  into  that  hall." 

"I  don't  like  to  keep  them  waiting,  those  poor 
things.     Well,  what  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  to  dine  to-morrow  with  the  Mar- 
quise d'Espard." 

"One  of  our  relations?"  asked  the  judge,  with  so 
innocently  preoccupied  an  air  that  Bianchon  burst  out 
laughing. 

"No,  uncle;  the  Marquise  d'Espard  is  a  high  and 
mighty  dame  who  has  presented  a  petition  to  your 
court,  praying  for  a  commission  in  lunacy  on  her  hus- 
band, and  you  were  appointed  —  " 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  go  and  dine  with  her? 
You  are  crazy!  "  said  the  judge,  snatching  up  a  copy 
of  the  statutes.  "Here,  read  that  article  which 
forbids  a  judge  from  eating  or  drinking  in  the  house 
of  either  party  whosecase  he  is  to  give  judgment  on. 
Let  your  marquise  come  and  see  me  if  she  has  any- 


188  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

thing  to  say.  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  'm  to 
examine  her  husband  after  reading  up  the  case  to- 
night." 

He  rose,  took  a  pile  of  documents  from  under  a 
paper-weight,  and  said,  after  looking  them  over:  — 

"Here  are  the  papers.  As  you  take  an  interest  in 
that  high  and  mighty  dame,  let  us  read  her  petition." 

Popinot  crossed  his  dressing-gown  over  his  breast, 
usually  left  bare  by  the  flapping  of  that  garment,  and 
dipped  a  sop  of  bread  into  his  cooling  coffee,  while  he 
searched  for  the  document  in  question,  which  he  next 
proceeded  to  read,  adding  various  parentheses  and 
some  discussions  in  which  his  nephew  took  part. 

"  •  To  the  Chief  Justice  of  the  Second  Court  of  the 
department  of  the  Seine,  in  session  at  the  Palais  de 
Justice. 

u  '  Madame  Jeanne-Clémentine- Athenaïs  de  Bla- 
mont-Chauvry,  wife  of  Monsieur  Charles-Maurice- 
Marie- Andoche,  Comte  de  Nègrepelisse,  Marquis 
d'Espard  '  (Good  nobility  that),  —  '  the  said  dame 
d'Espard  living  on  rue  du  Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, 
No.  104,  and  the  said  Sieur  d'Espard,  rue  de  la 
Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève,  No.  22  '  (Ah,  yes  !  the 
chief-justice  told  me  it  was  in  my  quarter),  —  '  having 
Maître  Desroches  for  her  lawyer  —  ' 

"Desroches!  "  exclaimed  the  judge;  "a  mere  petti- 
fogger, a  man  not  at  all  well  thought  of  by  either  the 
court  or  his  brother-lawyers  ;  a  man  whose  reputation 
injures  his  clients." 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Bianchon.     "I  know  him;  he 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy,  189 

is   unluckily  without   means,  and  he  behaves   like  a 
devil  in  the  holy-water  basin,  that's  all." 

"  '  —  has  the  honor  to  state  that,  for  the  last  year,  the 
moral  and  intellectual  faculties  of  Monsieur  d'Espard, 
her  husband,  have  undergone  so  serious  a  change  that 
they  have  now  brought  him  to  the  state  of  dementia 
and  imbecility  provided  for  by  article  486  of  the  Civil 
Code,  and  require,  for  the  protection  of  his  fortune 
and  person,  and  for  the  interests  of  his  children  whom 
he  keeps  with  him,  the  application  of  the  restraints 
named  in  said  article. 

"  '  And,  moreover,  that  the  mental  condition  of 
Monsieur  d'Espard,  which  for  several  years  has  given 
cause  for  serious  anxiety  as  to  his  management  of  his 
business  affairs,  has  lately  fallen  into  a  deplorable 
state  of  depression;  that  his  will  has  felt  the  effects 
of  this  growing  evil,  and  its  weakness  leaves  Mon- 
sieur d'Espard  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  of  inca- 
pacity, as  shown  by  the  following  facts. 

"  '  For  some  time  past  the  revenues  derived  from 
Monsieur  d'Espard's  landed  estates  have  been  paid 
by  him,  without  plausible  reasons  or  advantages, 
even  temporary,  to  an  old  woman  of  repulsive  appear- 
ance, named  Madame  Jeanrenaud,  living  sometimes 
in  Paris,  rue  de  la  Vrillière,  No.  8,  and  sometimes  at 
Villeparisis,  near  Claye,  department  of  the  Seine  et 
Marne,  for  the  benefit  of  her  son,  aged  thirty-six 
years,  an  officer  of  the  ex-Imperial  Guard,  whom  Mon- 
sieur d'Espard,  by  exerting  his  influence,  has  placed 
in  the  Royal  Guard  as  major  of  the  first  regiment  of 
cuirassiers.     These  persons,  reduced,  in  1814,  to  the 


190  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

greatest  poverty,  have,  since  then,  acquired  posses- 
sion of  various  pieces  of  valuable  property,  among 
them,  and  lately,  a  house  in  the  Grande  rue  Verte, 
which  the  Sieur  Jeanrenaud  has  fitted  up  at  consider- 
able cost,  and  where  he  now  lives  with  the  Dame  Jean- 
renaud, his  mother,  in  pursuance  of  a  project  of 
marriage,  which  project,  if  consummated,  will  involve 
an  expense  of  over  one  hundred  thousand  francs. 
This  marriage  has  been  procured  by  the  proceedings 
of  the  Marquis  d'Espard  toward  his  banker,  the  Sieur 
vMongenod,  whose  niece  he  asked  in  marriage  for  the 
said  Sieur  Jeanrenaud,  promising  his  influence  to  raise 
the  latter  to  the  dignity  of  baron.  In  fact,  this  eleva- 
tion has  already  taken  place  through  an  ordinance  of 
his  Majesty,  bearing  date  December  29  ultimo,  given 
at  the  solicitation  of  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  as  could 
be  proved  by  his  Excellency  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals, 
if  the  court  thinks  proper  to  obtain  his  testimony. 

M  '  And,  moreover,  that  there  exists  no  reason,  even 
among  those  which  morality  and  the  laws  reprove, 
which  can  explain  the  ascendency  which  the  said 
widow  Jeanrenaud  has  acquired  over  the  mind  of  the 
Marquis  d'Espard,  or  the  singular  interest  which  he 
takes  in  the  said  Baron  Jeanrenaud,  with  whom,  how- 
ever, he  holds  little  communication.  Nevertheless, 
the  control  exercised  by  these  two  persons  is  so  great 
that  whenever  they  are  in  need  of  money  —  '  " 

"Hey!  hey!  'reasons  which  morality  and  the  laws 
reprove  !  '  What  does  Desroches  or  his  clerk  mean  to 
insinuate  by  that?"  said  Popinot. 

Bianchon  laughed. 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  191 

"  *  — the  said  dame,  or  her  son,'  "  continued  Popinot 
"  'can  obtain  from  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  without  dis- 
cussion, whatever  they  ask;  and  in  default  of  ready 
money  Monsieur  d'Espard  often  gives  them  notes 
negotiated  by  the  Sieur  Mongenod,  who  stands  ready 
to  give  testimony  thereto. 

"  4  And,  moreover,  in  addition  to  these  facts,  it 
appears  that  recently,  when  certain  leases  on  the 
d'Espard  estates  were  renewed,  the  farmers  paid  large 
sums  for  the  continuation  of  said  leases,  which 
sums  the  said  Sieur  Jeanrenaud  obtained  for  his  own 
benefit. 

"  '  And  also,  that  the  will  of  the  Marquis  d'Espard 
has  so  little  to  do  with  the  payment  of  these  sums  that 
when  spoken  to  on  the  subject  he  appears  to  know 
nothing  about  them;  and  whenever  responsible  parties 
have  questioned  him  on  his  devotion  to  these  two 
individuals  his  answers  have  indicated  such  complete 
abnegation  of  his  own  ideals  and  interests  that 
there  would  seem  to  exist  some  mysterious  cause  un- 
derlying this  affair,  on  which  the  petitioner  desires 
to  call  down  the  eye  of  the  law  ;  because  it  is  impos- 
sible that  this  secret  cause  should  be  other  than  crim- 
inal, improper,  and  extortionate,  or  else  of  a  nature 
requiring  the  intervention  of  the  medical  officers  of 
the  law  on  this  obsession,  which  passes  the  bounds  of 
ordinary  insanity  and  can  only  be  characterized  by 
the  unusual  term  of  possession  —  '  " 

"The  devil!"  cried  Popinot;  "what  do  you  say 
to  that,  doctor?  The  statements  here  are  very 
singular." 


192  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"Possibly,"  replied  Bianchon,  "some  effect  of  mag- 
netic  power." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  that  nonsense  of  Mesmer's,  — 
seeing  through  walls,  and  such  stuff?" 

"Yes,  uncle,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely.  "As  I  lis- 
tened to  that  petition  the  idea  of  such  influence  came 
into  my  mind.  I  declare  to  you  that  I  have  verified, 
in  another  sphere  of  action,  facts  analogous  to  these, 
which  prove  the  unlimited  control  which  one  mind 
can  obtain  over  another.  I  am,  contrary  to  the  opin- 
ion of  my  brother  physicians,  absolutely  convinced  of 
the  power  of  the  will,  considered  as  a  motor  force.  I 
have  seen  —  setting  aside  all  cases  of  collusion  and 
charlatanism  —  the  effects  of  this  possession.  Acts 
promised  to  the  magnetizer  by  the  magnetized  per- 
son during  sleep  were  scrupulously  performed  in  the 
waking  state.  The  will  of  one  person  can  be  made 
the  will  of  another." 

"In  all  kinds  of  acts?" 

"Yes." 

"Even  criminal?" 

"Even  criminal." 

"No  one  but  you  could  make  me  listen  to  such 
talk." 

"I'll  let  you  witness  the  facts  if  you  like,"  said 
Bianchon. 

"Hum!  hum!"  muttered  the  judge.  "Suppose  that 
this  pretended  possession  was  really  the  cause  of  this 
affair,  it  would  be  difficult  to  produce  and  prove  it  in 
a  court  of  law." 

"I  don't  see  any  other  means  of  seduction  this 
Madame  Jeanrenaud  can  have  had,  inasmuch  as  the 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  193 

petition  states  that  she  is  old  and  horribly  ugly,"  said 
Bianchon. 

"But,"  remarked  the  judge,  "in  1814,  the  period  at 
which  this  possession  is  stated  to  have  been  first 
observed,  the  woman  must  still  have  been  young,  and 
she  may  have  been  pretty,  and  so  obtained  by  natural 
means,  for  herself  as  well  as  for  her  son,  this  empire 
over  Monsieur  d'Espard,  which  some  men  don't  know 
how  to  evade.  Such  cause  of  '  possession,'  as  they 
call  it,  would  be  reprehensible  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law,  but  it  is  explainable  to  the  eyes  of  nature. 
Madame  Jeanrenaud  may  have  been  angry  at  the  Mar- 
quis d'Espard's  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  de 
Blamont-Chauvry,  which  probably  took  place  about 
that  time;  and  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  there  may 
be  nothing  more  than  female  rivalry." 

"But,   uncle,   the  woman  is  said  to  be  repulsively 

ugly-" 

"The  power  of  seduction,"  replied  the  judge,  "is  in 
direct  proportion  to  repulsion  —  old  question,  that  ! 
Look  at  the  small-pox,  doctor.    However,  let 's  get  on." 

"'Moreover,  that  since  the  year  1815,  in  order  to 
obtain  the  sums  demanded  by  these  persons,  the 
Marquis  d'Espard  has  taken  his  two  sons  and  gone  to 
live  in  an  apartment,  rue  de  la  Montagne-Sainte- 
Geneviève,  the  commonness  of  which  is  unworthy  of 
his  name  and  fortune  '  (A  man  can  live  as  he  chooses)  : 
1  that  he  there  brings  up  his  two  children,  Comte 
Clément  d'Espard,  and  the  Vicomte  d'Espard,  in 
habits  of  life  not  in  keeping  with  their  rank  and 
their  future;   that  often  the  lack  of   money  is  such 

13 


194:  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

that  recently  the  owner  of  the  house,  a  Sieur  Mariast, 
seized  the  furniture  for  non-payment  of  rent;  and 
when  this  execution  was  effected  in  his  presence  the 
Marquis  d'Espard  assisted  the  sheriff,  whom  he 
treated  like  a  gentleman,  showing  him  the  courtesy 
and  attention  he  might  have  paid  to  a  person  who  was 
above  him  in  rank  —  ' 

The  uncle  and  nephew  looked  at  each  other  and 
laughed. 

"  i  That,  moreover,  all  the  acts  of  the  said  d'Es- 
pard's  life,  besides  those  in  relation  to  the  widow 
Jeanrenaud  and  her  son,  the  said  Baron  Jeanrenaud, 
are  indicative  of  madness;  that  for  the  last  ten  years 
the  said  d'Espard  has  busied  himself  solely  about 
China,  its  manners  and  customs  and  history;  that  he 
records  and  makes  notes  of  Chinese  habits  ;  but,  being 
questioned  on  these  subjects,  he  confounds  our  pres- 
ent time  and  its  events  with  the  facts  relative  to 
China;  that  he  censures  the  acts  of  our  government 
and  the  conduct  of  the  king  (whom  he  used  to  love 
personally),  comparing  them  with  Chinese  policy. 

"  '  That,  furthermore,  this  monomania  has  driven 
the  Marquis  d'Espard  into  actions  so  devoid  of  reason 
that,  against  the  habits  of  his  station  and  the  ideas 
he  professed  on  the  duties  of  nobility,  he  has  under- 
taken a  commercial  enterprise  for  which  he  signs  notes 
and  contracts  which  involve  both  his  honor  and  his 
fortune,  inasmuch  as  they  put  upon  him  the  obliga- 
tions of  a  merchant,  and  may,  in  case  of  non-payment, 
lead  to  bankruptcy  ;  that  the  said  notes  and  contracts, 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  195 

given  and  made  with  paper-makers,  printers,  litho- 
graphers, and  others,  who  have  furnished  means  of 
publication  for  his  work  (entitled  "A  picturesque  His- 
tory of  China,"  now  appearing  in  parts)  are  of  such 
magnitude  that  the  said  paper-makers  and  others  have 
applied  to  your  petitioner,  requesting  her  to  ask  for  a 
commission  in  lunacy  on  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  in 
order  to  protect  their  interests  —  ■  " 

"The  man  must  be  mad!"  cried  Bianchon. 

"You  think  so,  do  you?  "  said  Popinot.  "Wait  till 
you  hear  his  side.  He  who  listens  to  one  bell  hears 
but  one  sound." 

."It  seems  to  me  —  "  began  Bianchon. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  judge,  "that  if  one  of 
my  relations  wanted  to  lay  hold  of  the  management  of 
my  property,  and  if,  instead  of  being  a  simple  judge 
whose  colleagues  can  tell  from  day  to  day  whether  he 
is  sane  or  not,  I  were  a  duke  and  peer,  any  lawyer,  let 
alone  so  sly  a  fellow  as  Desroches,  could  make  out  a 
case  against  me  as  good  as  that." 

"  '  That  the  education  of  his  children  is  greatly  im- 
peded by  this  monomania;  and  that  he  instructs  them, 
contrary  to  all  principles  of  education,  on  those  points 
of  Chinese  history  which  are  directly  opposed  to  the 
doctrines  of  the  Catholic  Church;  and,  moreover,  that 
"he  teaches  them  to  read  and  speak  the  Chinese 
dialect  —  '" 

"Pooh!"  exclaimed  Bianchon,  "Desroches  is  get- 
ting absurd." 


196  A  Commission  in  Lunacy, 

"The  petition  is  drawn  up  by  his  head-clerk,  Gode- 
schal,  whom  you  ought  to  know,"  said  the  judge. 

"  *  That  he  frequently  leaves  his  said  children  with- 
out the  common  necessaries  ;  that  your  petitioner,  in 
spite  of  her  earnest  entreaties,  is  not  allowed  to  see 
them;  that  the  Sieur  Marquis  d'Espard  brings  her 
said  sons  only  once  a  year  to  visit  her;  that,  knowing 
the  privations  to  which  they  are  subjected,  she  has 
attempted,  but  in  vain,  to  convey  to  them  some  of  the 
commonest  necessaries  of  life  of  which  they  are 
deprived  —  '  " 

"  Come,  come,  Madame  la  marquise,  that 's  non- 
sense. Whoso  proves  too  much  proves  nothing.  My 
dear  boy,"  said  the  judge,  letting  the  petition  drop 
upon  his  knees,  "where  's  the  mother  who  ever  lacked 
courage,  wit,  and  bowels  of  compassion  to  the  point 
of  dropping  below  the  instincts  of  the  lower  animals  ? 
A  mother  would  manage  to  get  to  her  children  and  help 
them,  as  a  lioness  would  to  her  cubs.  If  your  mar- 
quise sincerely  wants  to  feed  or  clothe  her  sons  the 
devil  himself  could  n't  prevent  it.  That  eel  is  too  long 
for  an  old  judge  to  swallow.  Well,  let 's  read  the  rest 
of  it." 

"  l  That  at  the  age  which  the  said  sons  have  now 
attained,  it  is  essential  that  steps  be  taken  to  with- 
draw them  from  the  fatal  influence  of  such  an  educa- 
tion, that  they  be  provided  for  according  to  their  rank, 
and  that  the  unhappy  example  of  their  father's  conduct 
be  no  longer  before  their  eyes. 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  197 

"  4  That  in  support  of  the  facts  here  stated,  proofs 
exist  which  the  court  can  readily  obtain.  The  mono- 
mania of  the  said  d'Espard  as  to  China  has  led  him 
to  call  the  justice  of  peace  of  the  twelfth  arrondisse- 
ment a  third-class  mandarin,  and  the  professors  of 
the  school  of  Henri  IV.  "pig- tails."  Apropos  of  the 
simplest  matters  he  declares  that  things  are  not  done 
so  in  China;  in  the  course  of  an  ordinary  conversation 
he  will  mix  up  the  affairs  of  Madame  Jeanrenaud  with 
events  that  happened  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  all  the 
while  imagining,  apparently,  that  he  lives  in  China. 
Several  of  his  neighbors,  more  particularly  the  Sieurs 
Edme  Becker,  medical  student,  and  Jean-Baptiste 
Frémiot,  professor,  residing  in  the  same  house  as  the 
Marquis  d'Espard,  are  of  opinion  that  this  monomania 
on  the  subject  of  China  is  the  result  of  a  plan  formed 
by  the  Baron  Jeanrenaud  and  the  widow,  his  mother, 
to  destroy  the  remaining  mental  faculties  of  the  said 
d'Espard;  for  the  only  service  they  appear  to  render 
is  to  procure  and  convey  to  him  documents  and  facts 
relating  to  the  empire  of  China. 

44  *  And  finally,  your  petitioner  offers  to  prove  to  the 
honorable  court  that  the  sums  absorbed  by  the  Sieur 
and  widow  Jeanrenaud  between  the  years  1814  and 
1828  amount  to  not  less  than  one  million  of  francs. 

"  '  In  support  of  the  foregoing  facts  your  petitioner 
offers  the  testimony  of  persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of 
seeing  the  Marquis  d'Espard  daily,  and  whose  names, 
residences,  and  occupations  are  hereunto  annexed; 
several  of  whom  have  urged  the  petitioner  to  make  this 
application  as  the  sole  means  of  withdrawing  her  chil- 
dren from  this  fatal  influence  and  of  rescuing  the  rem- 
nants of  their  property. 


198  A   Commission  in  Lunacy, 

"  '  These  considerations,  together  with  the  testimony 
hereunto  annexed,  proving,  incontestably,  the  demen- 
tia and  imbecility  of  the  Marquis  d'  Espard  herein 
named,  described,  and  domiciled,  your  petitioner 
respectfully  requests  you  to  communicate  to  the  king's 
attorney-general;  and  your  said  petitioner  further 
requests  that  you  will  appoint  one  of  the  judges  of 
your  court  as  commissioner  to  proceed  to  due  inquiry 
into  this  case  and  to  report  on  such  day  as  you  may 
be  pleased  to  appoint,  etc.,  etc'  " 

44 And  here,"  said  Popinot,  "is  the  order  of  the 
chief-justice  appointing  me.  Well,  what  does  your 
marquise  want  with  me?  I  know  all  she  has  to  say. 
I  shall  go  to-morrow  with  my  clerk  and  question  the 
marquis;  for  the  matter  doesn't  seem  to  me  at  all 
clear." 

"But  look  here,  my  dear  uncle,  I  have  never  asked 
you  the  least  little  service  connected  with  your  judicial 
functions  ;  well,  now  I  do  ask  you  to  show  to  Madame 
d' Espard  a  kindness  her  situation  seems  to  require. 
If  she  came  here  you  would  listen  to  her?  " 

"Certainly." 

"Well,  go  and  listen  to  her  in  her  own  house. 
Madame  d'Espard  is  a  nervous,  delicate  woman,  who 
would  certainly  be  made  ill  by  coming  to  this  rat-hole 
of  yours.  Go  there  in  the  evening  instead  of  dining 
with  her,  since  the  law  forbids  you  to  eat  and  drink 
with  those  who  have  cases  in  court." 

"Does  n't  the  law  forbid  you  to  receive  legacies  from 
your  dead  patients  ?  "  said  Popinot,  thinking  he  saw 
a  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  his  nephew's  remark. 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  199 

"Come,  uncle,  if  it  is  only  to  get  at  the  truth  of  this 
affair,  do  as  I  ask  you.  You  can  go  there  as  examin- 
ing judge,  to  whom  the  matter,  as  stated  in  the  peti- 
tion, does  not  seem  sufficiently  clear.  For  my  part,  I 
should  think  it  was  quite  as  necessary  to  examine  the 
marquise  as  her  husband." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  judge;  "she  may  be  the 
crazy  one,  after  all.     I'll  go." 

"I'll  come  and  fetch  you.  Write  it  in  your  note- 
book: To-morrow  night,  nine  o'clock,  Madame 
d'Espard.  Good,"  said  Bianchon,  as  he  saw  his 
uncle  note  it  down. 


200  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 


IV. 


THE    MARQUISE    D'ESPARD. 


The  next  evening,  at  nine  o'clock,  Horace  Bianchon 
mounted  the  dusty  staircase  of  his  uncle  Popinot, 
whom  he  found  toiling  over  the  difficulties  of  a  knotty 
case.  The  new  coat  which  Lavienne  had  promised  to 
procure  from  a  tailor  had  not  arrived;  so  that  Popinot 
put  on  his  shabby  and  spotted  old  garment  and  was 
the  Popinot  incomptus  whose  aspect  was  wont  to  ex- 
cite a  laugh  on  the  lips  of  those  to  whom  his  life  was 
unknown.  Bianchon  obtained  permission,  however, 
to  tie  his  uncle's  cravat  and  button  up  his  coat,  and  in 
so  doing  he  was  able  to  conceal  the  worst  spots  by 
crossing  the  lappels  from  right  to  left,  and  so  present- 
ing a  more  respectable  part  of  the  cloth.  Nevertheless, 
before  long  the  judge  had  rucked  up  the  coat,  as  usual, 
by  his  peculiar  manner  of  ramming  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  so  that  being  much  wrinkled  both  before  and 
behind,  it  formed  a  sort  of  hump  in  the  middle  of  his 
back,  producing,  between  the  waistcoat  and  the  trou- 
sers, a  dissolution  of  continuity,  —  in  other  words,  a 
gap  through  which  his  shirt  appeared.  Bianchon,  to 
his  sorrow,  did  not  perceive  this  additional  absurdity 
until  the  moment  when  his  uncle  was  entering  Madame 
d'Espard's  salon. 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  201 

A  slight  sketch  of  the  life  of  that  lady  is  here  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  make  the  conference  which  Popinot 
was  about  to  have  with  her  intelligible  to  the  reader. 

Madame  d'Espard  had  been  for  the  last  seven  years 
one  of  the  most  fashionable  women  in  Paris,  where 
fashion  lifts  and  drops,  in  turn,  its  votaries,  who,  now 
high,  now  low,  that  is  to  say,  much  considered  and 
then  forgotten,  become,  in  the  end,  as  obnoxious  to 
fashion  itself  as  a  fallen  minister  or  an  exiled  king. 
Her  husband  having  left  her  about  the  year  1815, 
Madame  d'Espard  must  have  been  married  early  in 
1812.  Her  sons  were  fifteen  and  thirteen  years 
of  age,  respectively.  How  came  the  mother  of  a 
family,  thirty-three  years  of  age,  to  be  a  leader 
of  fashion?  Though  fashion  is  capricious,  and  rib 
one  can  point  in  advance  to  its  favorites,  —  for  it 
often  takes  up  the  wife  of  a  banker,  or  exalts  some 
person  of  dubious  beauty  and  elegance,  —  there  would 
surely  be  something  unnatural  if  it  took  no  account 
whatever  of  age.  In  this  instance  fashion  accepted 
Madame  d'Espard  as  a  young  woman.  She  was  thirty- 
three  years  old  on  the  civil  registers,  and  twenty-two 
in  a  salon. 

But  at  the  cost  of  what  care,  —  what  contrivances  ! 
Artificial  curls  concealed  her  temples.  In  her  own 
apartments  she  doomed  herself  to  live  in  a  sort  of  twi- 
light, pretending  ill-health,  in  order  to  keep  in  the 
protecting  shadow  of  curtains.  Like  Diane  de  Poi- 
tiers she  used  cold  water  for  her  bath  ;  and,  like  Diane 
again,  she  slept  on  horse-hair,  with  morocco  pillows  to 
preserve  her  hair,  ate  little,  drank  water  only,  arranged 
all  her  plans  and  movements  to   avoid   fatigue,  and 


202  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

performed  even  the  smallest  actions  of  her  life  with 
monastic  regularity. 

This  stern  system  is  carried,  they  say,  even  to  the 
use  of  ice  instead  of  water,  and  to  the  consumption  of 
cold  food  exclusively,  by  an  illustrious  Polish  woman, 
who,  in  our  day,  and  at  an  age  that  is  almost  centen- 
ary, lives  the  life  and  follows  the  occupations  of  a 
reigning  beauty.  Destined,  perhaps,  to  live  as  long 
as  Marion  Delorme,  to  whom  biographers  have  given 
a  hundred  and  thirty  years,  this  vice-queen  of  Poland, 
at  uearly  one  hundred,  has  a  youthful  heart  and  mind,  a 
graceful  figure,  a  charming  waist.  She  can,  in  conver- 
sation, —  where,  by  the  by,  her  words  sparkle  like 
twigs  in  a  blaze,  —  compare,  of  her  own  knowledge, 
the  men  and  books  of  the  present  day  with  those  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Living  in  Warsaw,  she  orders  her 
bonnets  from  Herbault.  A  very  great  lady,  she  has 
all  the  energy  of  a  little  girl  ;  she  swims,  she  runs  like 
a  schoolboy,  and  she  can  throw  herself  on  a  sofa  as 
gracefully  as  any  young  coquette;  she  scoffs  at  death, 
and  laughs  through  life.  Having  amazed  the  Emperor 
Alexander,  she  is  now  amazing  the  Emperor  Nicholas 
by  the  magnificence  of  her  fêtes.  She  is  still  bringing 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  young  men  who  love  her  ;  for 
she  is  of  any  age  that  she  chooses  to  be,  and  the  in- 
effable devotions  of  a  grisette  are  as  easy  and  natural 
to  her  as  the  grand  air,  the  dignity  of  a  great  lady,  for 
which  she  is  so  distinguished. 

Did  Madame  d'Espard  know  Madame  Zayonscek? 
Was  she  following  her  example?  However  that  may 
be,  it  is  certain  that  the  marquise  proved  the  benefit 
of  the  Polish  system:  her  complexion  was  pure,  her 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  203 

forehead  unwrinkled,  and  her  body,  like  that  of  Diane, 
kept  its  supple  freshness,  a  charm  that  holds  the  love 
a  woman  wins.  The  simple  precautions  of  this 
régime,  suggested  by  art,  by  nature,  and  possibly  by 
experience,  found  in  Madame  d'Espard  a  temperament 
which  aided  them.  The  marquise  was  endowed  by 
nature  with  a  profound  indifference  for  all  that  was 
not  herself.  Men  amused  her,  but  none  of  them  had 
ever  caused  her  those  great  emotions  which  deeply 
stir  two  natures  and  bend  either  one  of  them  to  the 
other.  She  had  neither  hatred  nor  love.  If  offended, 
she  revenged  herself  coldly  and  tranquilly  at  her  leis- 
ure, awaiting  the  occasion  to  gratify  the  ill-feeling 
she  kept  toward  those  who  had  once  opposed  her. 
She  never  moved  a  finger  herself  in  her  revenge  ;  she 
spoke,  knowing  well  that  any  woman  with  two  words 
can  kill  three  men. 

She  had  seen  Monsieur  d'Espard  leave  her  with 
keen  satisfaction;  for  he  took  away  two  children  who 
were  beginning  to  annoy  her,  and  might,  in  a  year  or 
two,  destroy  her  pretensions  to  youth.  Her  most  inti- 
mate friends  and  her  least  persevering  adorers,  seeing 
her  without  those  matron  jewels  whose  irrepressible 
growth  betrays  a  mother's  age,  supposed  her  to  be 
really  a  young  woman.  The  two  sons,  about  whom 
the  marquise  had  seemed  so  solicitous  in  her  petition, 
were,  as  well  as  their  father,  as  much  unknown  to  the 
world  of  fashion  as  the  North  Pole  still  remains  to 
adventurous  mariners.  Monsieur  d'Espard  was  sup- 
posed to  be  an  eccentric  person  who  had  deserted  his 
wife  without  having  the  smallest  ground  of  complaint 
against  her. 


204  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

Mistress  of  herself  at  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and 
mistress  of  her  fortune,  which  amounted  to  twenty- 
six  thousand  francs  a  year,  the  marquise  hesitated  long 
before  she  decided  on  a  course  which  would  determine 
her  future  life.  Though  she  profited  by  the  money  her 
husband  had  spent  upon  the  house,  and  kept  the  furni- 
ture and  the  horses  and  equipages,  in  short,  all  the 
luxury  of  a  well-appointed  house,  she  led  a  retired  life 
at  first,  during  the  years  1816-17-18,  —  a  period  when 
families  were  recovering  from  the  cruel  disasters  of  the 
political  turmoil.  Belonging,  moreover,  to  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  families  of  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Germain,  her  relations  urged  her  to  live  quietly  after 
the  separation  which  her  husband's  inexplicable 
caprice  had  forced  upon  her. 

In  1820,  however,  the  marquise  issued  from  this  dor- 
mant state  ;  she  appeared  at  court,  went  to  fêtes,  and 
received  in  her  own  house.  From  1821  to  1827  she 
kept  her  household  on  a  brilliant  footing;  was  re- 
marked upon  for  her  taste  in  all  things,  more  par- 
ticularly in  her  dress.  She  took  a  day,  and  had  her 
hours  for  reception;  and  presently  she  was  able  to 
seat  herself  on  the  throne  where  the  Vicomtesse  de 
Beauséant  had  formerly  shone,  also  the  Duchesse  de 
Langeais,  and  Madame  Firmiani,  who,  on  her  marriage 
with  Monsieur  Octave  de  Camps  had  resigned  the 
sceptre  into  the  hands  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse,  from  whom  Madame  d'Espard  snatched  it. 
The  world  knew  nothing  more  about  the  life  of  the 
Marquise  d'Espard  than  these  general  facts.  She  ap- 
peared likely  to  live  long  on  the  Parisian  horizon,  like 
a  sun  which  seems  nearly  down,  and  yet  does  not  set. 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  205 

The  marquise,  during  these  years,  became  inti- 
mately connected  with  a  duchess  not  less  celebrated 
for  her  beauty  than  for  her  devotion  to  the  person  of 
a  prince  then  in  disgrace,  but  accustomed  to  take  a 
leading  part  in  past  governments,  as  he  was  destined 
to  do  in  future  ones.  Madame  d'Espard  was  also  the 
friend  of  a  foreigner,  a  woman  with  whom  a  shrewd 
and  illustrious  Russian  diplomatist  was  in  the  habit 
of  discussing  and  analyzing  public  events;  and, 
lastly,  an  old  countess,  accustomed  to  juggling  with 
the  cards  of  the  great  game  of  politics,  adopted  her 
almost  maternally.  To  long-sighted  men  Madame 
d'Espard  was  seen  to  be  thus  preparing  for  a  silent 
but  real  power  which  she  intended  should  succeed 
the  frivolous  social  sovereignty  fashion  had  bestowed 
upon  her.  Her  salon  was  beginning  to  take  a  politi- 
cal tone.  The  remark,  "What  do  they  say  of  it  at 
Madame  d'Espard's  ?  "  "Is  Madame  d'Espard's  salon 
opposed  to  the  measure?"  began  to  be  repeated  by  a 
sufficient  number  of  simpletons  to  give  the  flock  of 
faithfuls  who  attended  it  the  authority  of  a  coterie. 
A  few  political  victims,  soothed  and  petted  by  the  mar- 
quise, —  such,  for  instance,  as  the  favorite  of  Louis 
XVIII.,  who  was  no  longer  of  importance  elsewhere, 
and  several  former  ministers  likely  to  come  again  into 
power,  —  declared  that  she  was  as  clever  in  diplomacy 
as  the  noted  wife  of  the  Russian  ambassador  in  Lon- 
don. The  marquise  had  several  times  given  either  to 
deputies  or  peers  certain  sayings  and  ideas  which 
subsequently  echoed  through  Europe  from  the  tribune. 
She  had  often  correctly  judged  events  on  which  the 
frequenters  of  her  salon  dared  not  venture  an  opinion. 


206  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

The  principal  personages  at  court  came  to  play  whist 
at  her  house  in  the  evenings.  She  had,  it  must  be  said, 
the  good  qualities  of  her  defects.  She  was  thought  to 
be  discreet,  and  really  was  so.  Her  friendships 
seemed  able  to  stand  all  tests.  She  served  her  'pro- 
tégés with  a  constancy  which  proved  that  she  thought 
less  of  making  followers  than  of  sustaining  her  own 
credit.  This  conduct  was  inspired  by  her  dominant 
passion,  vanity.  The  conquests  and  pleasures  to  which 
most  women  cling  were  to  her  the  mere  means  to  an 
end;  she  wanted  to  live  at  all  the  points  of  the  widest 
circle  that  life  could  describe. 

Among  the  men,  still  sufficiently  young  to  make  the 
future  theirs,  who  filled  her  salons  on  the  days  she 
received,  might  be  seen  Messieurs  de  Marsay,  de 
Ronquerolles,  de  Montriveau,  de  la  Roche-Hugon,  de 
Sérizy,  Ferraud,  Maxime  de  Trailles,  de  Listomère, 
the  brothers  Vandenesse,  du  Châietet,  and  others.  She 
often  admitted  men  whose  wives  she  would  not  receive; 
and  her  social  power  was  strong  enough  to  impose 
these  hard  conditions  on  certain  ambitious  persons 
such  as  the  two  bankers,  de  Nucingen  and  Ferdinand 
du  Tillet.  But  she  had  so  long  and  so  carefully  studied 
the  strength  and  weakness  of  Parisian  social  life  that 
she  conducted  herself  systematically  in  a  manner  that 
gave  to  no  man  the  slightest  advantage  over  her.  A 
note  or  a  letter  by  which  she  could  be  compromised 
was  a  thing  impossible  to  obtain. 

If  the  coldness  of  her  heart  allowed  her  to  play  this 
measured  part  with  pre-eminent  success,,  her  external 
appearance  served  her  equally  well.  Her  figure  was 
youthful;  her  voice  was  as  she  chose  to  make  it,  — 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  207 

sweet  and  supple,  hard  and  clear.  She  possessed  to 
an  eminent  degree  the  secret  of  that  aristocratic  bear- 
ing by  which  a  woman  over-rides  or  effaces  the  past. 
The  marquise  knew  the  art  of  putting  an  immense 
space  between  herself  and  the  man  who  fancied  from 
some  chance  intimacy  on  her  part  that  he  had  rights 
to  a  certain  familiarity.  Her  imposing  glance  denied 
the  past.  In  conversation,  lofty  and  beautiful  senti- 
ments, noble  conclusions  seemed  to  flow  naturally 
from  a  heart  and  soul  so  pure  ;  but  she  was,  in  reality, 
a  mass  of  calculations,  quite  capable  of  blasting  a 
man  who  was  awkward  enough  to  interfere  with  her 
plans,  if  they  touched  her  personal  interests. 

In  attempting  to  attach  himself  to  this  woman, 
Rastignac  had  rightly  judged  her  a  most  able  instru- 
ment; but  he  had  not  yet  used  that  instrument;  far 
from  being  able  to  handle  it,  he  found  himself  already 
being  ground  by  it.  This  }7oung  condottiere  of  intel- 
lect, condemned,  like  Napoleon,  to  wage  incessant 
war,  knowing  well  that  one  defeat  was  the  tomb  of  his 
future,  had  already  discovered  in  his  new  protectress  a 
dangerous  adversary.  For  the  first  time  in  his  turbu- 
lent life  he  was  playing  a  game  with  a  partner  worthy 
of  him.  In  the  conquest  of  Madame  d'Espard  he  saw 
looming  before  him  a  ministry  ;  so  he  unwisely  began 
by  serving  her  before  he  made  use  of  her,  —  a  danger- 
ous beginning! 

The  hôtel  d'Espard  required  a  host  of  servants,  for 
the  style  of  living  of  the  marquise  was  almost  magni- 
ficent. The  great  reception-rooms  were  on  the  ground- 
floor,  but  she  herself  lived  on  the  first  floor.  The 
splendor  of  the  grand  staircase,  the  apartments  deco- 


208  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

rated  in  a  style  that  recalled  the  former  Versailles 
were  so  many  signs  of  a  vast  fortune.  When  the  judge 
saw  the  porte-cochere  open  to  his  nephew's  cabriolet, 
he  examined  with  a  rapid  glance  the  porter's  lodge,  the 
porter  himself,  the  court-yard,  the  stables,  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  dwelling,  the  flowers  that  decked  the  stair- 
case, the  exquisite  cleanliness  of  the  stairs  them- 
selves, the  walls,  the  carpets;  and  he  counted  the 
footmen  in  livery  who  came  out  upon  the  landing 
when  the  bell  rang.  His  eyes,  which,  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  his  grimy  room,  had  fathomed  the  grandeur 
of  humble  poverty  beneath  the  muddy  garments  of 
the  populace,  now  studied  with  the  same  lucid  vision 
the  furniture  and  decorations  of  the  rooms  through 
which  he  passed  to  discover  the  poverty  of  grandeur. 
"Monsieur  Popinot  —  Monsieur  Bianchon." 
The  two  names  were  announced  at  the  door  of  the 
boudoir  where  the  marquise  was  seated, — a  pretty  room, 
recently  re-furnished,  and  looking  out  on  the  garden. 
At  this  moment  Madame  d'Espard  occupied  one  of 
those  rococo  arm-chairs  which  Madame  had  brought 
into  fashion.  Rastignac,  on  her  left,  sat  on  a  low 
chair  which  he  appeared  to  have  appropriated,  like  the 
cavalière  of  an  Italian  lady.  Standing  at  the  corner 
of  the  fireplace,  was  a  third  personage. 

As  the  sapient  doctor  had  said,  Madame  d'Espard's 
temperament  was  harsh  and  nervous  ;  had  it  not  been 
for  the  regimen  to  which  she  subjected  herself,  her 
skin  would  have  had  the  blotched  and  reddened  appear- 
ance produced  by  constant  over-excitement.  As  it 
was,  she  added  to  the  effect  of  her  superinduced  white- 
ness by  the  vigorous  tones  and  the  judicious  light  and 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  209 

shade  by  which  she  surrounded  herself  or  with  which 
she  arrayed  her  person.  Red-browns,  maroon  with 
gold  reflections  became  her  marvellously.  Her  boudoir, 
copied  from  that  of  a  celebrated  Englishwoman  then 
the  vogue  in  London,  was  draped  in  tan-colored  vel- 
vet, to  which  she  had  added  various  decorations  of 
exquisite  design  which  lessened  the  pompous  dignity 
of  that  regal  color.  Her  hair  was  dressed  like  that  of 
a  young  girl,  smooth  upon  the  forehead  and  falling 
thence  in  curls,  which  increased  the  rather  long  oval 
of  her  face  ;  but  just  as  round  shapes  are  common,  and 
often  ignoble,  so  the  oblong  form  is  dignified  and 
even  majestic.  A  double  mirror  with  facets  will  give 
evident  proof  of  this  rule  when  employed  to  reflect 
the  face. 

On  perceiving  Popinot,  who  stopped  on  the  threshold 
like  a  timid  animal,  and  stretched  out  his  neck,  one 
hand  being  thrust,  as  usual,  into  a  pocket,  the  other 
holding  a  hat  with  a  greasy  brim,  the  marquise  cast  a 
glance  at  Rastignac  in  which  was  a  gleam  of  satire. 
The  rather  silly  expression  of  the  good  man's  face 
agreed  so  well  with  his  grotesque  attire  and  his  fright- 
ened air,  that  Rastignac,  catching  sight,  at  the  moment, 
of  Bianchon's  annoyed  face,  could  not  help  laughing 
as  he  turned  away  his  head.  The  marquise  gently 
inclined  her  head  and  made  an  apparently  painful 
effort  to  rise  from  her  chair,  into  which  she  fell  back 
gracefully,  as  if  to  excuse  her  impoliteness  by  extreme 
debility. 

At  that  moment  the  personage  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  fireplace  brought  forward  two  chairs  and 
offered  them  with  a  slight  bow  to  the  judge  and  the 

14 


210  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

doctor  ;  then,  as  soon  as  they  were  seated,  he  resumed 
his  former  attitude  and  crossed  his  arms.  A  word  on 
that  man. 

We  have  a  painter  in  these  days,  Decamps,  who 
possesses,  in  the  highest  degree,  the  art  of  interesting 
the  mind  in  some  object  he  presents  to  the  eye,  whether 
it  be  a  stone  or  a  human  being.  In  this  respect,  his 
drawing  is  more  effective  than  his  coloring.  For  in- 
tance,  he  draws  an  unfurnished  room  and  puts  a  broom 
resting  against  the  wall  of  it;  if  he  chooses  he  can 
make  you  shudder  at  the  sight  of  that  broom;  you 
fancy  it  has  just  been  the  assistant  of  some  crime;  it 
has  dabbled  in  blood;  it  may  have  been  the  broom 
which  the  widow  Bancal  used  to  sweep  out  the  room 
where  Fualdès  was  murdered.  Yes,  the  painter  invests 
that  broom  with  the  fury  of  anger;  its  bristles  are 
standing  up  like  the  terrified  hairs  of  your  head;  he 
makes  it  the  interpreter  between  the  silent  poesy  of 
his  own  imagination  and  that  which  develops  in  your 
own.  Having  roused  and  alarmed  your  mind  by  the 
sight  of  that  broom,  to-morrow  he  will  draw  another, 
beside  which  lies  a  cat,  asleep,  but  most  suggestive 
in  its  sleep;  you  see  at  once  that  that  is  the  broom  the 
wife  of  the  German  shoemaker  bestrides  when  she 
goes  to  the  Brocken  ;  but  the  next  day  that  broom  is 
a  pacific  implement  on  which  is  hung  the  coat  of  a 
clerk  in  a  public  office.  Decamps  has  in  his  pencil 
what  Paganini  has  in  his  bow,  —  a  magnetically  com- 
municative power. 

Well,  it  is  necessary  to  convey  to  the  art  of  words 
this  form  of  genius,  this  chic  of  the  pencil,  to  picture 
that  tall,  thin,  erect  man,  dressed  in  black,  with  long 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  211 

black  hair,  who  leaned  against  that  fireplace  without 
uttering  a  word.  His  profile  was  like  the  blade  of  a 
knife,  cold  and  sharp,  and  the  skin  was  the  color  of 
Seine  water  when  stirred  and  muddied.  He  gazed  on 
the  ground,  all  the  while  listening  and  judging.  His 
attitude  had  something  alarming  in  it.  He  was 
there  like  Decamps'  celebrated  broom,  in  which  lay 
the  power  to  present  an  idea  of  crime.  Sometimes, 
during  the  conference  that  ensued,  the  marquise 
endeavored  to  obtain  some  tacit  advice  by  turning  her 
eyes  for  an  instant  upon  that  personage;  but  however 
eager  her  mute  interrogation  might  be,  he  continued 
as  cold  and  rigid  as  the  Statue  of  the  Commander. 


212  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 


V. 


WHAT    WAS     SAID     BETWEEN   A    WOMAN    OF    THE    WORLD 
AND    JUDGE    POPINOT. 

The  worthy  Popinot,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair,  facing  the  fire,  his  hat  between  his  legs,  gazed 
at  the  gilded  candelabra,  the  clock,  the  curiosities 
collected  on  the  mantel-shelf,  the  velvet  hangings,  and 
all  the  other  charming  and  costly  things  with  which  a 
woman  of  fashion  surrounds  herself.  He  was  drawn 
from  this  bourgeois  contemplation  by  the  flute-like 
voice  of  Madame  d'Espard  saying  to  him:  — 
"Monsieur,  I  owe  you  ten  thousand  thanks  —  " 
"Ten  thousand!  "  thought  the  worthy  man;  "that's 
too  many;  there  isn't  one." 

"  —  for  the  trouble  you  have  deigned  —  " 
"Deigned!"  thought  he;  "she  is  fooling  me." 
"  — to  take  in  coming  to  see  a  poor  petitioner  too 
feeble  to  go  to  you  —  " 

Here  the  judge  cut  short  the  marquise's  speech,  giv- 
ing her  an  inquisitorial  look  which  settled  to  his  mind 
the  sanitary  condition  of  the  poor  petitioner.  "She  is 
perfectly  well,"  thought  he. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  with  a  respectful  air,  "you  owe 
me  nothing.  Though  my  action  in  coming  here  is 
not  according  to  our  usual  customs,  a  judge  ought  to 
spare  no  pains  in  discovering  the  actual  truth  of  such 
affairs.     Our  verdicts  can  then  be  given  less  in  the 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  213 

mere  spirit  of  the  law  than  according  to  the  inspira- 
tion of  our  own  perceptions.  Whether  I  inquire  into 
the  truth  in  my  own  study  or  here  is  of  no  consequence, 
provided  I  can  get  at  that  truth." 

While  Popinot  was  speaking,  Rastignac  pressed 
Bianchon's  hand,  and  the  marquise  made  the  doctor 
a  gracious  little  sign  with  her  head,  full  of  gratitude. 

"Who  is  that  gentleman?"  said  Bianchon,  in  a 
whisper  to  Rastignac,  signing  to  the  man  in  black. 

"The  Chevalier  d'Kspard;   brother  of  the  marquis." 

"Your  nephew  tells  me,"  said  the  marquise  to 
Popinot,  "how  very  busy  you  are;  I  knew  already  that 
you  did  good  in  secret,  and  hid  your  benefactions  in 
order  to  relieve  those  you  benefit  from  the  burden  of 
gratitude.  Your  labors  in  court  must  weary  you  ex- 
ceedingly. Why  do  they  not  double  the  number  of 
judges?" 

"Ah!  madame,  that's  not  the  trouble,"  said  Popi- 
not; "  things  would  go  worse  if  they  did.  Your  idea 
isn't  a  bad  one;  but  when  that  comes  about,  hens 
will  have  teeth." 

At  this  speech,  which  agreed  so  well  with  the  gen- 
eral expression  of  the  judge's  countenance,  the  Che- 
valier d'Espard  looked  him  over  with  a  single  glance, 
that  seemed  to  say:  "Easy  enough  to  get  the  better 
of  you." 

The  marquise  looked  at  Rastignac,  who  stooped 
over  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"Such  are  the  men  appointed  to  decide  the  interests, 
and  often  the  lives  of  their  fellows  !  " 

Like  most  men  who  have  grown  old  in  their  profes- 
sion, Popinot  let  himself  slide  into  the  habits  there 


214  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

contracted,  habits  of  thought  especially.  His  style 
of  address  was  that  of  an  examining  judge.  He  liked 
to  question  those  with  whom  he  spoke,  getting  them 
into  unexpected  dilemmas,  and  making  them  say 
more  than  they  intended.  Pozzo  di  Borgo  amused 
himself,  it  is  said,  by  detecting,  in  that  way,  the 
secrets  of  diplomats;  long  practice  developed  in  him 
a  mind  that  was  steeped  in  craft. 

As  soon  as  Popinot  had,  as  it  were,  surveyed  the 
ground  on  which  he  stood,  he  thought  it  necessary  to 
have  recourse  to  the  shrewdest,  best  concealed,  and 
most  circuitous  ways  known  to  the  Palais  of  getting 
at  the  truth.  Bianchon  was  cold  and  stiff,  like  a  man 
who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  endure  pain  and  say 
nothing  about  it;  inwardly,  he  was  wishing  that  his 
uncle  might  step  on  that  woman  and  crush  her  as  we 
tread  on  a  snake,  —  a  comparison  which  may  have  been 
suggested  to  his  mind  by  the  long  trailing  gown,  the 
serpentine  position,  the  stretching  neck,  the  little 
head,  and  the  undulating  movements  of  the  Marquise 
d'Espard. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  the  latter,  "however  much 
I  dislike  to  urge  my  claims,  I  have  suffered  too  long 
not  to  hope  that  you  will  bring  this  matter  to  a  speedy 
conclusion.  When  may  I  expect  the  verdict  in  my 
favor?" 

"Madame,  I  will  do  all  that  depends  on  me,"  replied 
Popinot,  in  a  kindly  manner.  "  Are  you  ignorant  of 
the  reasons  which  led  to  the  separation  now  existing 
between  yourself  and  the  Marquis  d'Espard?"  he 
asked,  looking  directly  at  her. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  with  the  manner  of 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  215 

one  who  relates  a  prepared  tale.  "At  the  beginning 
of  the  year  1816  Monsieur  d'Espard,  who  for  three 
months  past  had  changed  very  much  in  temper,  pro- 
posed to  me  to  go  and  live  on  one  of  his  estates  near 
Briançon,  without  considering  my  health,  which  that 
climate  would  have  impaired,  or  my  tastes  and  habits. 
I  refused  to  accompany  him.  My  refusal  led  him  to 
reproach  me  so  unjustly  and  for  such  ill-founded 
reasons,  that,  for  the  first  time,  I  began  to  doubt  the 
soundness  of  his  mind.  The  following  day  he  aban- 
doned me,  leaving  me  his  house  and  the  free  disposal 
of  my  own  income,  and  went  to  live  in  the  rue  de 
la  Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève,  taking  my  two  children 
with  him  —  " 

"Permit  me,  madame,"  said  the  judge,  interrupting 
her;  "how  much  is  that  income  ?" 

"Twenty-six  thousand  francs,"  she  replied,  in  a 
parenthesis.  "I  immediately  consulted  old  Monsieur 
Bordin  as  to  what  I  ought  to  do,"  she  continued; 
"but  it  appeared  that  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
removing  a  father  from  the  guardianship  of  his  chil- 
dren are  such  that  I  was  forced  to  resign  myself  to  a 
solitary  life  at  the  age  of  twenty- two, —  an  age  at  which 
many  a  young  woman  would  have  committed  follies. 
You  have,  no  doubt,  read  my  petition,  monsieur;  you 
know  the  principal  facts  on  which  I  base  my  request 
for  Monsieur  d'Espard's  sequestration?  " 

"Have  you  taken  many  steps  toward  your  husband, 
madame,  with  a  view  to  obtain  your  children?"  asked 
the  judge. 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  they  have  all  been  useless. 
It   is  very  cruel  for  a  mother  to  be  deprived  of  the 


216  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

affection  of  her  children;  above  all,  when  they  are 
capable  of  giving  her  the  happiness  all  women  crave." 

"The  eldest  must  be  sixteen,"  said  the  judge. 

"Fifteen!"  interposed  the  marquise,  eagerly. 

Here  Bianchon  looked  at  Rastignac.  Madame 
d'Espard  bit  her  lips. 

"What  can  the  ages  of  my  children  signify  to 
you?"  she  said. 

"Ah,  madame,"  replied  the  judge,  appearing  not  to 
notice  the  bearing  of  his  words,  "a  lad  of  fifteen  and 
his  brother  (about  thirteen,  I  suppose)  have  legs  and 
minds  ;  they  might  have  come  to  see  you;  if  they  don't 
come  it  must  be  to  obey  their  father,  and  the  fact  of 
their  obeying  him  in  such  a  matter  shows  that  they 
love  him." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  the  marquise. 

"You  are  perhaps  ignorant  that  your  lawyer  makes 
you  say  in  your  petition  that  your  children  are  ex- 
tremely unhappy  with  their  father." 

Madame  d'Espard  replied  with  artless  innocence:  — 

"I  don't  know  what  my  lawyer  made  me  say." 

"Pardon  me  these  deductions,  but  law  and  justice 
must  weigh  all  facts,"  said  Popinot.  "The  questions 
I  put  to  you,  madame,  are  inspired  by  the  desire  of 
thoroughly  understanding  this  affair.  According  to 
you,  Monsieur  d'Espard  abandoned  you  on  a  most 
frivolous  pretext.  But  instead  of  going  to  Briançon, 
where  he  wished  to  take  you,  he  stayed  in  Paris! 
There  is  a  point  that  is  not  at  all  clear.  Did  he  know 
this  Madame  Jeanrenaud  before  his  marriage?" 

"No,  monsieur,"  replied  the  marquise,  with  a  dis- 
pleasure that  was  visible  only  to  Rastignac  and  the 
Chevalier  d'Espard. 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy,  217 

She  felt  annoyed  at  being  put  in  the  dock  by  this 
judge  whose  judgment  she  desired  to  pervert;  but,  as 
Popinot's  preoccupation  of  mind  made  his  manner  as 
vacant  as  ever,  she  ended  by  attributing  these  ques- 
tions to  the  inquisitive  genius  of  Voltaire's  bailli. 

"My  relatives,"  she  said,  continuing  her  recital, 
"married  me,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  to  Monsieur 
d'Espard,  whose  name,  fortune,  and  habits  corre- 
sponded to  those  which  my  family  required  in  my  hus- 
band. Monsieur  d'Espard  was  then  twenty-six  years 
old;  he  was  a  gentleman  in  the  English  acceptation 
of  the  word;  his  manners  pleased  me;  he  seemed  to 
have  much  ambition  —  and  I  like  ambitious  men,"  she 
added,  with  a  glance  at  Rastignac.  "If  Monsieur 
d'Espard  had  not  encountered  this  Madame  Jeanre- 
naud,  his  fine  qualities,  his  acquirements,  and  his 
knowledge  would  have  carried  him,  according  to  the 
opinion  of  his  friends,  into  the  government.  The 
king,  Charles  X.,  then  Monsieur,  held  him  in  high 
esteem,  and  the  peerage,  a  place  at  court,  and  a 
high  place,  would  undoubtedly  have  been  his.  That 
woman  turned  his  head  and  destroyed  the  future  of  a 
whole  family." 

"What  were  Monsieur  d'Espard's  religious  opin- 
ions?" 

"He  was,"  she  said,"  and  he  still  is  a  man  of  pro- 
fessed piety." 

"Do  you  think  that  this  Madame  Jeanrenaud  exer- 
cises some  mystical  power  over  him  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur." 

"You  have  a  fine  house,  madame,"  said  Popinot, 
abruptly,    taking    his   hands   from    his    pockets   and 


218  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

rising  to  draw  aside  the  tails  of  his  coat  and  warm 
himself.  "This  boudoir  is  very  comfortable,  these 
chairs  are  magnificent;  your  apartments  are,  indeed, 
sumptuous!  You  must  suffer  much  while  living  in 
such  luxury  to  feel,  as  you  say,  that  your  children  are 
ill-lodged,  ill-fed,  ill-clothed.  I  cannot  imagine  any- 
thing more  distressing  for  a  mother." 

4 'Yes,  you  are  right,  monsieur.  I  would  give  any- 
thing if  I  could  only  procure  some  happiness  for  those 
poor  boys,  whose  father  makes  them  toil,  I  am  told, 
from  morning  till  night,  on  this  deplorable  work  about 
China." 

"You  give  fine  balls  which  would  amuse  them.  But 
then,"  added  the  judge,  reflectively,  "they  might  get  a 
taste  for  dissipation.  I  suppose  their  father  does 
bring  them,  or  send  them  to  you,  sometimes  ?  " 

"Twice  a  year,  monsieur;  on  New  Year's  day  and 
on  my  birthday.  On  those  days  Monsieur  d'Espard 
does  me  the  favor  to  dine  with  me." 

"Very  singular  conduct,"  said  Popinot,  with  a  con- 
vinced air.  "Have  you  ever  seen  this  Madame 
Jeanrenaud  ?  " 

"Once;  my  brother-in-law,  who,  in  his  brother's 
interests  —  " 

"Ah!"  interrupted  Popinot;  "then  monsieur  is  the 
brother  of  Monsieur  d'Espard?" 

The  chevalier  bowed  without  speaking. 

"The  Chevalier  d'Espard,  who  is  conversant  with 
the  whole  affair,  took  me  to  the  Oratory  where  this 
woman  goes,  for  she  is  a  Protestant.  I  saw  her; 
there  is  nothing  attractive  about  her;  she  looks  like  a 
butcher's  wife;  extremely  fat  and  horribly  pitted  with 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  219 

the  small-pox;  she  has  the  feet  and  hands  of  a  man, 
and  squints  !  —  in  short,  she  is  hideous.  " 

"It  is  inconceivable!  "  exclaimed  the  judge,  looking 
the  greatest  fool  of  all  the  judges  in  the  kingdom. 
"And  that  creature  lives  not  far  from  here  in  a  fine 
mansion!  Well,  well!  there's  no  such  thing  as  a 
bourgeois  in  these  days." 

"Yes,  a  mansion  on  which  she  and  her  son  have 
lavished  money." 

"Madame,"  said  the  judge,  "I  live  in  the  faubourg 
Saint-Marceau,  and  I  know  very  little  about  such 
expenses  ;  what  do  you  call  lavishing  money  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  the  marquise,  "keeping  up  a  stable, 
five  horses,  three  carriages,  a  calèche,  a  coupé,  and  a 
cabriolet." 

"  And  that  costs  a  big  sum  ?  "  inquired  Popinot, 
apparently  astonished. 

"Enormous,"  interposed  Rastignac.  "The  keeping 
of  such  a  stable,  the  care  of  the  carriages  and  the 
liveries  cost  not  less  than  fifteen  to  sixteen  thousand 
francs  a  year." 

"Do  you  think  so,  madame?"  asked  Popinot,  in  a 
tone  of  doubt. 

"Yes,  at  least  that  sum,"  replied  the  marquise. 

"And  the  furnishing  of  their  mansion,  —  I  suppose 
that  cost  a  big  sum,  too  ?  " 

"  More  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs,  "  replied  the 
marquise,  smiling  at  the  judge's  vulgarity. 

"Judges,  madame,"  said  Popinot,  "are  very  unbe- 
lieving; in  fact,  they  are  paid  to  be  so,  and  I  am. 
But  if  these  things  are  true  the  Sieur  Jeanrenaud  and 
his  mother  have  swindled  Monsieur  d'Espard  strangely. 


220  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

Here  's  a  stable  which,  you  say,  costs  sixteen  thou- 
sand francs  a  year.  The  table,  servants'  wages,  and 
other  household  expenses  must  amount  to  at  least  three 
times  as  much,  which  brings  the  total  up  to  over  sixty 
thousand  francs  a  year.  Do  you  suppose  that  those 
persons,  formerly,  you  say,  so  poor,  could  have  ac- 
quired all  that  fortune?  The  interest  on  a  million  is 
only  forty  thousand  francs." 

"Monsieur,  the  son  and  his  mother  invested  the 
sums  given  them  by  Monsieur  d'Espard  on  the  Grand- 
Livre  when  the  Funds  were  at  60  to  80.  I  think  their 
income  must  amount  to  over  sixty  thousand  francs. 
Besides,  the  son  has  a  good  salary." 

"If  they  spend  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,"  said 
the  judge,  "how  much  do  you  spend?  "  , 

"About  the  same,"  replied  Madame  d'Espard. 

The  chevalier  made  a  movement,  the  marquise 
flushed,  Bianchon  glanced  at  Rastignac,  but  the  judge 
looked  so  kindly  a  simpleton  that  the  marquise  felt 
reassured.  The  chevalier  seemed  to  take  no  further 
interest  in  the  conversation  ;  he  considered  the  game 
as  lost. 

"These  Jeanrenauds,  madame,"  said  Popinot, 
"might  be  summoned  before  a  police-court." 

"I  have  always  thought  so,"  replied  the  marquise, 
delighted.  "If  threatened  with  exposure  in  court 
they  would  compromise." 

"Madame,"  said  Popinot,  "when  Monsieur  d'Espard 
left  you,  did  he  give  you  a  power  of  attorney  to  receive 
and  manage  your  property  ?  " 

"I  don't  understand  the  object  of  these  questions," 
said  the  marquise,  sharply.     "It  seems  to  me  that  if 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  221 

you  take  into  consideration  the  state  in  which  the 
insanity  of  my  husband  has  placed  me  you  ought  to 
concern  yourself  with  him  and  not  with  me." 

" Madame,"  said  the  judge,  "I  am  coming  to  that. 
But  before  confiding  to  you,  or  to  others,  the  adminis- 
tration of  your  husband's  property,  it  is  proper  that 
the  court  should  know  how  you  have  managed  your 
own  property.  If  Monsieur  d'Espard  gave  you  a 
power  of  attorney,  he  placed  confidence  in  you,  and 
the  court  will  appreciate  that  fact.  Did  you  receive 
the  power  of  attorney?  Under  it  you  would  have 
been  authorized  to  buy  and  sell  stocks  and  bonds  and 
re-invest  the  money." 

"No,  monsieur.  The  Blamont-Chauvrys  are  not 
accustomed  to  do  business,"  she  said,  deeply  insulted 
in  her  pride  of  nobility,  and  forgetting  her  immediate 
cue.  "My  property  is  intact;  Monsieur  d'Espard 
gave  me  no  power  of  attorney." 

The  chevalier  put  his  hand  before  his  eyes  that  they 
might  not  betray  the  keen  annoyance  he  felt  at  his 
sister-in-law's  want  of  foresight;  he  saw  she  was 
destroying  her  own  case.  Popinot  had  marched 
straight  to  the  fact,  in  spite  of  the  apparent  irrelevance 
of  his  questions. 

"Madame,"  said  the  judge,  indicating  the  chevalier, 
"monsieur  is  connected  with  you  by  ties  of  blood  ; 
but  can  J.  speak  openly  before  these  other  gentlemen?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  marquise,  surprised  by  such  cau- 
tion. 

"Well,  madame,  you  admit  that  you  spend  sixty 
thousand  francs  a  year,  —  and  the  sum  seems  to  me 
well-spent,  in  view  of  your  stables,  your  mansion,  your 


222  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

numerous  servants,  and  the  habits  of  a  household 
which  are,  doubtless,  superior  to  those  of  the  Jean- 
renauds  —  " 

The  marquise  made  a  haughty  sign  of  assent. 

"Now,"  continued  the  judge,  "as  you  possess  only 
twenty-six  thousand  francs  a  year,  you  must  —  between 
ourselves  be  it  said  —  have  debts  to  at  least,  if  not 
more  than,  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  The  court  will 
therefore  have  the  right  to  suppose  that  the -motive 
which  prompts  you  to  apply  for  the  removal  of  your 
husband  from  the  management  of  his  property  is  one 
of  self-interest;  in  other  words,  the  necessity  of  pay- 
ing your  debts,  if  —  you  —  have  —  any.  An  earnest 
request  for  my  interest  has  led  me  to  examine  your 
situation;  I  beg  you  now  to  examine  it  yourself  and 
to  be  candid  in  admitting  the  facts.  There  is  still 
time  —  if  my  suppositions  are  correct  —  to  save  your- 
self from  the  scandal  of  a  blame  which  the  court  might 
attribute  to  you  unless  you  make  your  position  per- 
fectly plain  and  clear.  We  are  bound  to  examine 
into  the  motives  of  our  petitioners,  as  well  as  to  listen 
to  the  statements  of  the  other  side  ;  we  must  make  sure 
that  the  persons  endeavoring  to  sequestrate  another 
are  not  guided  either  by  passion,  or  by  a  cupidity 
which  is,  unfortunately,  becoming  only  too  prevalent 
in  the  present  day  —  " 

The  marquise  was  broiling  like  Saint  Laurence  on 
his  gridiron. 

"And,"  continued  the  judge,  "I  must  have  more 
light  on  this  subject.  Madame,  I  do  not  demand  a 
strict  accounting  from  you,  but  I  must  inquire  how  it 
is  that  you  have  been  able  to  keep  up  an  expenditure 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  223 

of  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  that  for  several 
years.  Many  women  accomplish  that  phenomenon  in 
their  homes,  I  know,  but  you  are  not  of  their  kind. 
Speak  frankly  ;  you  may  have  had  perfectly  legitimate 
means  of  obtaining  the  money,  —  a  royal  grant,  in- 
demnities recently  granted;  though  in  that  case  your 
husband's  permission  would  be  necessary  to  enable 
you  to  receive  them." 

The  marquise  made  no  reply. 

" Reflect,"  said  Popinot,  "that  Monsieur  d'Espard 
will,  of  course,  defend  himself,  and  his  lawyers  will 
have  the  right  to  search  for  your  creditors.  This 
boudoir  is  newly  furnished;  the  rest  of  the  house 
seems  to  have  been  redecorated  since  Monsieur  le  mar- 
quis left  you  in  1816.  If,  as  you  were  good  enough 
to  tell  me,  the  furnishing  of  a  mansion  for  such  people 
as  the  Jeanrenauds  was  costly,  how  much  more  costly 
must  it  be  for  you,  who  are  a  great  lady.  If  I  am 
mistaken  you  must  set  me  right.  Remember  the 
duties  that  the  law  lays  upon  me  ;  the  rigorous  inqui- 
ries that  I  am  bound  to  make  before  proceeding  to  the 
extreme  act  of  depriving  the  father  of  a  family  of  his 
rights  in  the  prime  of  life.  You  must  therefore,  Ma- 
dame la  marquise,  excuse  the  difficulties  I  have  the 
honor  of  submitting  to  you,  and  on  which  you  can 
easily  give  me  explanations.  When  a  man  is  set  aside 
on  the  ground  of  insanity,  the  law  requires  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  guardian.     Who  is  to  be  the  guardian?" 

"His  brother,"  replied  the  marquise. 

The  chevalier  bowed.  An  awkward  silence  fell  upon 
the  five  persons  present.  In  his  casual  way  the  judge 
had  laid  bare  the  woman's   secret   sore.      Popinot' s 


224  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

good-natured,  silly  face,  at  which  the  marquise,  Rasti- 
gnac,  and  the  chevalier  had  felt  inclined  to  laugh,  now- 
acquired  in  their  eyes  its  actual  character.  The  absurd 
individual  was  a  clear-sighted  judge.  His  vulgar 
interest  in  the  cost  of  the  boudoir  explained  itself. 
Starting  from  the  gilded  elephant  which  supported  the 
clock,  he  had  followed  this  luxury  step  by  step,  and 
had  ended  by  reading  to  the  bottom  of  the. woman's 
soul. 

"If  the  Marquis  d'Espard  is  crazy  on  the  subject  of 
China,"  said  Popinot,  at  last,  pointing  to  the  elephant, 
"I  see  that  the  products  of  that  country  are  equally 
agreeable  to  you.  But  perhaps  it  is  to  him  that  you 
owe  all  these  charming  Chineseries,"  he  added,  look- 
ing round  the  room. 

This  little  jest,  which  was  full  of  good  taste,  made 
Bianchon  smile,  surprised  Rastignac,  and  caused  the 
marquise  to  bite  her  thin  lips. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Madame  d'Espard,  "instead  of 
being  the  protector  of  a  woman  placed  under  the  cruel 
alternative  of  seeing  her  fortune  lost  and  her  children 
ruined,  or  of  seeming  to  be  the  enemy  of  her  husband, 
you  accuse  me,  and  suspect  my  motives!  You  must 
acknowledge  that  your  conduct  is  very  singular." 

"Madame,"  said  the  judge,  "the  great  care  which 
the  courts  bestow  upon  cases  of  this  kind  might  have 
given  you,  in  another  judge,  a  far  less  indulgent  critic 
than  I.  Remember,  also,  that  Monsieur  «d'Espard's 
lawyer  will  not  spare  you.  You  may  be  sure  that  he 
will  condemn  and  vilify  acts  and  intentions  on  your 
part  which  may  be  perfectly  pure  and  disinterested. 
Your  life  will  belong  to  him  ;  and  he  will  turn  it  inside 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  225 

out,  —  not  treating  you  with  the  respectful  deference 
that  I  have  shown." 

"For  which  I  thank  you,"  said  the  marquise,  ironi- 
cally. "Admitting  for  a  moment  that  I  owe  thirty  — 
fifty  thousand  francs,  what  would  that  be  to  the 
d'Espards  and  the  Blamont-Chauvrys  ?  But  suppose, 
as  I  say,  it  were  so,  would  that  prevent  my  husband 
from  being  confined  if  he  is  mad?" 

"No,  madame." 

"Though  you  have  questioned  me  with  a  slyness  I 
did  not  suppose  a  judge  would  be  guilty  of  using  in  a 
matter  where  frankness  sufficed  to  tell  you  all,  and 
though,"  she  said,  "I  still  regard  myself  as  justified 
in  making  you  no  answer,  I  am  willing  to  say,  without 
subterfuge,  that  my  position  in  society  and  all  these 
efforts  made  to  maintain  it  are  not  in  accordance  with 
my  tastes.  I  began  my  life,  after  my  husband  left  me, 
by  living  for  years  in  solitude  ;  but  of  late  the  inter- 
ests of  my  children  appeal  to  me,  and  I  feel  that  I 
ought  to  take  the  place  of  their  father.  By  receiving 
my  friends,  maintaining  all  social  relations,  —  mak- 
ing debts,  if  you  choose  to  say  so,  —  I  assist  the  future 
of  my  sons  ;  I  am  preparing  brilliant  careers  for  them, 
in  which  they  will  find  among  my  friends  both  aid  and 
encouragement.  " 

"I  appreciate  your  devotion,  madame,"  replied  the 
judge.  "It  does  you  honor,  and  I  should  be  the  last 
to  blame  such  conduct.  But  the  magistrate  belongs 
to  all,  and  not  to  any  one  side;  he  must  know  every- 
thing and  weigh  everything." 

The  natural  tact  of  the  marquise  and  her  long  habit 
of  judging  men  made  her  aware  that  Monsieur  Popinot 

15 


226  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

was  not  to  be  influenced  by  any  personal  considera- 
tions. She  had  counted  on  meeting  an  ambitious 
magistrate  ;  she  had  met  an  upright  conscience.  Feel- 
ing the  uselessness  of  her  present  tactics  she  began  to 
think  of  other  means  of  succeeding  in  her  ends. 

The  servants  brought  in  tea. 

"Has  madame  any  further  explanations  to  give 
me  ?  "  said  Popinot,  rising,  as  he  saw  these  prepara- 
tions. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  haughtily,  "do  your  duty; 
examine  Monsieur  d'Espard  and  you  will  pity  me,  I 
am  certain."  She  raised  her  head,  and  looked  at 
Popinot  with  a  pride  that  was  mingled  with  imperti- 
nence.    The  good  man  bowed  respectfully. 

"He  's  a  pretty  fellow,  your  uncle!  "  said  Rastignac 
aside  to  Bianchon.  "Can't  he  comprehend  anything? 
Does  n't  he  know  what  the  Marquise  d'Espard  is,  and 
what  her  influence  and  her  secret  power  in  society  are  ? 
She  '11  send  for  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  to-morrow,  and 
your  uncle  will  be  made  to  feel  it." 

"My  dear  fellow,  how  can  I  help  it?  "  said  Bianchon. 
"Did  n't  I  warn  you  how  it  would  be?  My  uncle  is 
not  an  accommodating  man." 

"No,  he  is  a  man  to  get  rid  of,"  replied  Rastignac. 

The  doctor  was  forced  to  bow  in  haste  to  the  mar- 
quise and  her  mute  brother-in-law,  and  hurry  after 
Popinot,  who,  not  being  one  to  linger  in  a  disagree- 
able situation,  was  already  at  the  door. 

"That  woman  owes  at  least  three  hundred  thousand 
francs,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  got  into  his  nephew's 
cabriolet. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  affair?  " 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  227 

"I?"  said  the  judge.  "I  never  have  any  opinion 
till  I  have  examined  the  whole  case.  To-morrow, 
early,  I  shall  summon  that  Madame  Jeanrenaud  to  my 
office  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  and  question  her  as  to 
the  facts  which  relate  to  herself  and  her  son,  for  they 
both  seem  compromised  in  the  matter." 

"I  'd  like  to  know  the  secret  of  it." 

"Good  gracious!  don't  you  see  that  the  marquise  is 
the  tool  of  that  tall  stick  of  a  man  who  never  said  a 
word.  There  's  Cain  in  him,  but  a  Cain  who  finds  his 
club  on  the  judge's  bench,  —  where,  however,  un- 
luckily for  him,  we  have  more  than  one  sword  of 
Damocles." 

"Ah!  Rastignac,"  cried  Bianchon,  "why  did  you 
ever  set  your  foot  in  such  a  business  ?  " 

"We  are  accustomed  to  see  plenty  of  such  little 
plots  in  families,"  said  the  judge.  "There  's  never 
a  year  that  we  don't  render  judgments  of  non-lieu  on 
appeals  for  the  confinement  of  lunatics.  Morality 
seems  to  see  nothing  dishonorable  in  such  attempts; 
whereas  we  send  to  the  galleys  some  poor  devil  who 
breaks  a  pane  of  glass  in  a  jeweller's  window.  The 
Code  is  not  without  its  defects." 

"But  remember  the  facts  stated  in  the  petition." 

"My  dear  boy,  you  don't  know  the  romances  which 
clients  tell  to  their  lawyers.  Besides,  if  lawyers  pre- 
sented only  the  truth  they  wouldn't  earn  enough  to 
pay  the  interest  on  the  costs  of  their  practice." 


228  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 


VI. 


THE    INSANE    MAN. 


The  next  day,  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  a  stout 
lady,  who  resembled  a  cask  on  which  a  gown  and  a 
belt  had  been  fastened,  toiled,  panting  and  sweating, 
up  the  stairs  of  Judge  Popinot.  She  had  descended, 
with  much  difficulty,  from  a  green  landau  which 
exactly  corresponded  to  her;  the  landau  could  not  be 
conceived  of  without  the  woman,  nor  the  woman  with- 
out the  landau. 

"It  is  I,  my  dear  monsieur,"  she  said,  presenting 
herself  at  the  door  of  the  judge's  office,  — "Madame 
Jeanrenaud,  whom  you  have  sent  for  as  though  she 
were  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  thief."  These 
rather  vulgar  words  were  said  in  a  vulgar  voice, 
wheezy  with  asthma,  and  were  stopped  by  a  fit  of 
coughing.  "When  I  go  through  damp  places  you 
have  no  idea  what  I  suffer,  monsieur.  I  shall  never 
make  old  bones,  saving  your  presence.  But  anyhow, 
here  I  am." 

The  judge  was  quite  taken  aback  at  the  sight  of 
this  Maréchale  d'Ancre.  Madame  Jeanrenaud  had  a 
skin  that  was  pitted  with  innumerable  holes  all  highly 
colored,  a  low  forehead,  a  flat  nose,  a  face  as  round  as 
a  cannon-ball  ;  in  fact,  every  part  of  the  good  woman 
was  round.     She  had  the  lively  eyes,  the  frank  man- 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  229 

ner,  the  jovial  talk  of  a  countrywoman;  her  chestnut 
hair  was  pushed  back  under  a  bonnet-cap  worn  beneath 
a  green  bonnet  adorned  with  bunches  of  auriculas, 
commonly  called  bear's  ears.  Her  voluminous  bosom 
was  laughable,  and  excited  some  dread  of  grotesque 
explosion  when  she  laughed.  Her  stout  legs  were  of 
the  kind  that  makes  the  gamin  of  Paris  say  of  certain 
solid  women  that  they  are  built  on  piles.  The  worthy 
widow  wore  a  green  gown  trimmed  with  chinchilla. 
In  short,  she  was  quite  in  keeping  with  her  last 
words,  "Here  I  am!  " 

"Madame,"  said  Popinot,  "you  are  suspected  of 
having  employed  seduction  on  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
d'Espard,  in  order  to  obtain  from  him  considerable 
sums  of  money." 

"  Accused  of  what  ?  "  she  cried;  "seduction!  But, 
my  dear  monsieur,  you  are  a  respectable  man,  and,  be- 
sides, as  a  magistrate,  you  must  have  common-sense. 
Just  look  at  me!  Am  I  a  woman  to  seduce  any  one? 
I  can't  even  tie  my  shoes.  It  is  twenty  years  since 
I  've  been  able  to  lace  my  stays  without  the  danger  of 
sudden  death.  When  I  was  eighteen  I  was  slim  as 
asparagus,  and  pretty,  too,  as  I  may  say  now.  That 
was  the  time  I  married  Jeanrenaud,  a  worthy  man, 
skipper  of  a  salt-boat.  I  had  my  son,  who  is  a  fine- 
looking  fellow,  and  my  glory  ;  for  though  I  tell  it  to 
my  credit,  he  's  my  best  piece  of  work.  That  boy  has 
been  a  soldier  of  Napoleon,  and  one  of  the  Imperial 
Guard.  But,  alas!  my  poor  Jeanrenaud's  death  —  for 
he  died  drowned  —  was  a  dreadful  change  for  me.  I 
took  the  small-pox  and  stayed  in  my  room  for  months  ; 
and  when  I  came  out  I  was  as  fat  as  you  see  me  now, 


230  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

ugly  as  sin,  and  miserable  as  the  stones  of  the  street. 
There  's  my  seductions  for  you!  " 

"But,  madame,  what  then  can  be  the  motives  which 
lead  Monsieur  d'Espard  to  give  you  such  large  sums 
of  money?" 

"Immense;  call  them  immense,  monsieur,  and  I'll 
agree  with  you;  but  as  for  his  motives,  1  am  not 
authorized  to  tell  them." 

"You  do  wrong.  His  family,  very  justly  alarmed, 
are  expecting  to  confine  him  as  a  lunatic." 

"Good  God!"  cried  the  good  woman,  jumping  up 
with  remarkable  vivacity,  "is  it  possible  that  they  are 
tormenting  him  about  me  ?  —  he  !  a  king  of  men  !  a  man 
who  has  n't  his  equal  !  Rather  than  any  harm  should 
happen  to  him,  rather,  I  may  say,  than  he  should  lose 
one  hair  from  his  head,  we  would  give  up  all,  all, 
monsieur.  Write  that  down  on  your  papers.  Heavens 
and  earth!  I  must  go  and  tell  my  boy  about  this. 
Ha  !  who  ever  heard  the  like  ?  " 

With  that  she  left  the  room,  rolled  to  the  staircase 
and  disappeared. 

"She  doesn't  lie,  that  one,"  thought  the  judge. 
"At  any  rate,  I  shall  know  the  truth  to-morrow,  for 
to-morrow  I  '11  go  and  examine  the  Marquis  d'Espard." 

Persons  who  have  passed  the  age  when  the  human 
being  spends  his  life  heedlessly,  at  random,  are  aware 
of  the  influence  exerted  on  serious  matters  by  things 
apparently  unimportant,  and  they  will  not  be  surprised 
at  the  gravity  attaching  to  the  following  little  circum- 
stance. The  next  day  Popinot  had  a  coryza,  a  malady 
not  dangerous,  and  known,  commonly,  under  the 
foolish   and   incorrect   name  of   "cold  in  the  head." 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  231 

Having  no  reason  to  suppose  that  a  short  delay  would 
prove  serious,  the  judge,  who  felt  feverish,  stayed  in 
the  house  and  did  not  go  to  examine  the  Marquis 
d'Espard.  This  one  lost  day  was  to  this  affair  what 
the  broth  taken  by  Marie  de  Medici  was  on  the  famous 
day  of  Dupes,  which,  by  delaying  her  conference  with 
Louis  XIII. ,  enabled  Richelieu  to  get  first  to  Saint- 
Germain  and  recover  his  royal  captive. 

Before  following  the  judge  and  his  clerk  to  the 
residence  of  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  it  may  be  well  to 
cast  a  glance  on  the  house,  the  home,  and  the  affairs 
of  this  father  of  a  family,  represented  to  be  insane  by 
his  wife's  petition. 

We  find  here  and  there  in  the  old  quarters  of  Paris 
various  buildings  in  which  archaeology  perceives  a  cer- 
tain desire  to  ornament  the  city,  together  with  that 
passion  for  proprietorship  which  makes  mankind 
endeavor  to  give  permanence  to  its  buildings.  The 
house  where  Monsieur  d'Espard  was  now  living,  in 
the  rue  de  la  Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève,  was  one 
of  those  ancient  erections  built  of  freestone;  it  was 
not  without  richness  in  its  architecture,  though  time 
had  blackened  its  stones,  and  the  many  revolutions  of 
the  city  had  changed  its  aspect  both  within  and  with- 
out. The  great  personages  who  formerly  inhabited  the 
quarter  of  the  University  having  departed,  together 
with  the  great  ecclesiastical  institutions,  this  old 
dwelling  had  since  sheltered  trades,  industries,  and  a 
class  of  inhabitants  for  which  it  was  never  intended. 

During  the  last  century  a  printing-office  had  defaced 
its  floors,  soiled  "its  panels,  blackened  its  walls,  and 
changed   the   divisions  of  its  various  rooms.     Once 


232  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

the  mansion  of  a  cardinal,  the  fine  old  house  was  now 
the  dwelling  of  many  obscure  tenants.  The  style  of 
its  architecture  proved  that  it  was  built  during  the 
reigns  of  Henri  III.,  Henri  IV.,  and  Louis  XIII.,  the 
period  at  which  the  hôtels  Mignon,  Serpente,  the 
palace  of  the  Princesse  Palatine,  and  the  Sorbonne 
were  built  in  the  same  neighborhood. 

Monsieur  d'Espard  occupied  the  ground-floor,  no 
doubt  for  the  sake  of  the  garden,  which  might  pass 
for  spacious  in  such  crowded  quarters,  and  lay  to  the 
south,  —  two  advantages  which  conduced  to  the  health 
of  his  children.  The  situation  of  the  house,  in  a 
street  the  name  of  which  indicates  a  rapid  descent  of 
ground,  gave  to  this  ground-floor  apartment  enough 
height  to  prevent  its  being  damp.  Monsieur  d'Espard 
had  hired  it  —  for  a  very  moderate  sum,  rents  in  this 
quarter  being  low  at  the  time  he  went  there  —  in 
order  to  be  near  the  schools,  and  to  superintend, 
himself,  the  education  of  his  sons.  The  state  of 
the  premises  when  he  hired  them  was  such  that  he 
was  obliged  to  repair  and  fit  up  his  apartment  on 
the  ground-floor,  which  he  did  in  a  manner  that 
made  it  a  suitable  residence.  He  restored  the  wood- 
work to  those  brown  tones  beloved  in  Holland,  and  by 
the  old  Parisian  bourgeoisie,  which,  in  our  day,  afford 
such  fine  effects  to  painters  of  genre.  The  walls  were 
hung  with  plain  papers  which  harmonized  well  with 
the  woodwork.  The  windows  had  curtains  of  some 
material  that  was  not  costly,  and  yet  was  chosen  in  a 
manner  to  produce  an  effect  in  keeping  with  the  gen- 
eral harmony.  The  furniture  was  choice  and  well 
arranged. 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  233 

Whoever  entered  those  rooms  could  not  fail  to  be 
conscious  of  a  peaceful,  tranquil  feeling,  inspired  by 
the  stillness  and  silence  that  reigned  there,  by  the 
quietness  and  symphony  of  the  coloring,  —  giving  to 
that  word  " symphony"  the  meaning  which  artists 
attach  to  it.  A  certain  nobility  of  detail,  a  perfect 
harmony  between  the  persons  and  the  things,  brought, 
insensibly,  to  the  lips  the  word  suave.  Few  persons 
were  admitted  to  these  apartments  occupied  by  the 
marquis  and  his  sons,  whose  lives  might,  therefore, 
seem  mysterious  to  the  surrounding  neighborhood. 

On  the  third  story  of  the  same  house  were  three 
large  rooms,  still  in  the  state  of  dilapidation  and  gro- 
tesque bareness  in  which  the  former  printing-office  had 
left  them.  These  rooms,  devoted  to  the  preparation 
of  the  ''Picturesque  History  of  China,"  were  so 
arranged  as  to  contain  an  office,  a  ware-room,  and  a 
smaller  office  in  which  Monsieur  d'Espard  spent  a 
portion  of  his  day;  for,  after  the  mid-day  breakfast 
until  four  in  the  afternoon,  he  was  always  at  work  on 
the  third  floor,  engaged  in  superintending  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  work  he  had  undertaken.  Persons  who 
came  to  see  him  sought  him  there,  and  not  in  his  own 
apartments;  his  sons,  on  their  return  from  school, 
would  frequently  go  up  there.  But  the  home  on  the 
ground-floor  was  the  sanctuary  where  father  and  sons 
spent  their  days  between  the  dinner  hour  and  the  next 
morning. 

The  family  life  was  carefully  guarded.  Two  ser- 
vants sufficed  for  its  wants:  a  cook,  an  old  woman 
long  attached  to  the  d'Espard  family  ;  and  a  valet  forty 
years  old,  who  had  served  the  marquis  before  his  mar- 


234  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

riage  with  Mademoiselle  de  Blamont.  The  children's 
governess  had  also  remained  with  them,  and  the  order 
and  neatness  of  the  establishment  was  a  visible  proof 
of  the  maternal  affection  she  put  into  the  management 
of  the  household  and  the  care  of  the  children.  Grave, 
and  not  communicative,  these  three  good  people 
seemed  to  have  entered  into  the  hidden  thought  which 
guided  the  life  of  their  master.  The  contrast  of  their 
reserved  habits  and  the  ways  of  other  cooks  and  valets 
contributed,  perhaps,  to  the  air  of  mystery  which  was 
thought  to  surround  this  home,  and  did,  in  fact,  give 
rise  to  calumnies  for  which,  it  must  be  owned,  Mon- 
sieur d'Espard  himself  gave  some  occasion. 

Proper  and  praiseworthy  motives  had  made  him 
resolve  to  have  no  communication  with  the  other  ten- 
ants of  the  old  house.  In  undertaking  the  education 
of  his  sons  he  was  anxious  to  keep  them  from  inter- 
course with  strangers.  Perhaps,  also,  he  wished  to 
avoid  the  annoyances  of  too  close  neighborhood.  In 
a  man  of  his  station,  at  a  time  when  liberalism  was 
becoming  rampant  in  the  Latin  quarter,  such  conduct 
not  unnaturally  excited  against  him  those  petty  pas- 
sions and  jealousies  the  silliness  of  which,  equalled 
only  by  their  meanness,  finds  vent  in  porters'  gossip 
and  malicious  talk  from  door  to  door;  about  which 
Monsieur  d'Espard  and  his  servants  were  wholly  igno- 
rant. The  valet  was  called  a  Jesuit,  the  cook  a  sly 
dissembler,  and  the  governess  was  said  to  be  in  league 
with  the  others  to  rob  the  old  crazy  man,  —  the  crazy 
man  being  the  marquis  ;  his  fellow  lodgers  having  come 
to  believe  that  a  life  which  did  not  pass  through  the 
sieve  of  their  own  appreciations  was  first  an  unrea- 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  235 

sonable,  and  then  an  insane  one.  In  short,  the  habits 
and  ways  of  the  marquis,  his  sons,  and  his  servants 
gave  rise  to  ill-will  among  his  neighbors,  and  brought 
the  latter,  by  degrees,  to  that  state  of  mind  in  which 
ignorant  persons  recoil  at  no  baseness  if  it  can  do 
harm  to  an  adversary  they  have  themselves  created. 

Monsieur  d'Espard  was  a  noble,  just  as  his  wife 
was  a  great  lady,  —  two  striking  types  now  so  rare  in 
Frauce  that  an  observer  might  count  the  persons  who 
offer  a  complete  realization  of  them.  These  two  charac- 
ters are  founded  on  primitive  ideas,  on  beliefs,  so  to 
speak,  inborn,  on  habits,  acquired  from  infancy, 
which  no  longer  exist.  To  believe  in  pure  blood,  in  a 
privileged  race,  to  put  himself  in  thought  above  other 
men,  —  must  not  such  a  man  from  his  very  birth  have 
measured  the  distance  which  separates  patricians  from 
the  people  ?  To  command,  he  must  never  have  known 
an  equal;  and  education  must  have  enforced  ideas 
which  nature  inspires  in  such  men,  whose  brow  she 
crowns  before  their  mother's  kiss  is  laid  there.  These 
ideas  and  this  education  are  no  longer  possible  in 
France,  where,  for  the  last  forty  years  luck  has  seized 
the  right  to  make  nobles  by  taking  them  from  bloody 
battle-fields,  gilding  them  with  glory,  crowning  them 
with  the  halo  of  genius  ;  where  the  abolition  of  entails 
and  the  consequent  partitioning  of  property  has  forced 
the  noble  to  occupy  himself  with  his  own  affairs 
instead  of  being  occupied  by  the  affairs  of  the  State; 
where  personal  grandeur  can  be  acquired  only  by  long 
and  patient  labor,  —  an  era  wholly  novel. 

Considered  as  a  relic  of  that  great  body  called  feu- 
dality, Monsieur  d'Espard  deserves  respectful  admira- 


236  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

tion.  If  he  believed  himself,  through  his  blood,  above 
his  fellow-men,  he  believed  also  in  all  the  obligations 
of  nobility  ;  he  possessed  the  virtues  and  the  force  that 
it  demands.  His  sons  he  had  brought  up  to  the  same 
principles;  to  them  he  had  communicated  from  their 
cradles  the  religion  of  his  caste.  A  profound  sense  of 
their  dignity,  pride  in  their  name,  the  certainty  of 
being  great  in  themselves,  gave  them  the  characteris- 
tics of  royal  honor,  knightly  courage,  and  the  protect- 
ing kindness  of  the  lords  of  a  manor.  Their  manners, 
in  harmony  with  these  ideas,  would  have  seemed  noble 
among  princes,  but  they  wounded  the  dwellers  in  the 
Latin  quarter,  —  a  land  of  equality  if  ever  there  was 
one,  where,  from  the  lesser  to  the  greater,  all  men 
denied  the  privileges  of  nobility  to  a  noble  without 
money,  for  the  same  reason  that  they  grant  them  to  a 
wealthy  burgher. 

In  the  father  as  well  as  in  the  children  external 
appearance  and  soul  were  in  harmony.  Monsieur 
d'Espard,  now  about  forty-four  years  of  age,  might 
have  served  as  a  model  by  which  to  exhibit  the  aris- 
tocracy of  nobility  to  the  nineteenth  century.  He  was 
fair  and  slender;  his  face  had  that  natural  distinction 
in  its  contour  and  general  expression  which  tells  of 
noble  sentiments;  but  it  bore  the  impress  of  a  cold 
reserve  which  seemed  to  demand  too  much  respect. 
His  aquiline  nose,  turned  at  the  tip  from  left  to  right 
(a  slight  deviation  that  was  not  without  grace),  his 
blue  eyes,  his  high  forehead,  rather  prominent  under 
the  eyebrows,  which  formed  a  thick  line  that  over- 
shadowed the  eyes,  were  all  signs  of  an  upright  mind, 
capable  of  perseverance,  and  of  great  loyalty,  though 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  237 

at  the  same  time  they  gave  a  rather  singular  air  to 
his  physiognomy.  The  projection  of  the  forehead 
might  be  thought  to  indicate  a  certain  degree  of  eccen- 
tricity, and  the  thick  eyebrows  meeting  over  the  nose 
added  to  this  apparent  singularity.  His  hands  were 
white  and  delicately  cared-for,  his  feet  were  narrow, 
and  the  insteps  high.  His  speech  was  hesitating,  not 
only  in  utterance,  which,  at  times,  was  almost  stutter- 
ing, but  also  in  the  expression  of  ideas;  his  thought 
and  his  speech  produced  upon  the  mind  of  his  hearer 
the  effect  of  a  man  who  flits  from  point  to  poiut, 
touches  and  fingers  and  leaves  everything,  finishing 
nothing.  This  defect,  purely  external,  contrasted 
with  the  decision  of  a  mouth  that  was  very  firm,  and 
with  the  generally  determined  character  of  the  head. 
His  rather  jerky  manner  of  walking  seemed  allied  to 
his  method  of  speech.  These  singularities  of  person 
contributed  to  confirm  the  popular  impression  of  eccen- 
tricity. In  spite  of  his  elegance,  he  was  systematically 
economical  in  dress  ;  he  wore  for  three  or  four  years  the 
same  black  coat,  brushed  with  the  utmost  care  by  his 
devoted  valet. 

As  for  his  sons,  they  were  both  handsome,  and 
endowed  by  nature  with  a  grace  which  did  not  exclude 
a  certain  expression  of  aristocratic  disdain.  They 
had  the  brightness  of  eye,  the  freshness  of  color,  and 
the  transparency  of  skin  which  denote  pure  morals, 
systematic  habits,  and  the  regular  alternation  of  work 
and  play.  Both  had  black  hair,  blue  eyes,  and  their 
father's  crooked  nose;  but  their  mother  had  trans- 
mitted to  them  the  dignity  of  speech,  glance,  and  bear- 
ing which  is  hereditary  among  the  Blamont-Chauvrys. 


238  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

Their  voices,  pure  as  crystal,  possessed  the  gift  of 
touching  the  heart  by  soft,  flowing  tones  that  exer- 
cised a  great  fascination;  in  short,  they  had  the  voice 
a  woman  would  have  wished  to  hear  after  receiving 
the  bright  flame  of  their  eyes.  But,  more  than  all  this, 
they  preserved  the  modesty  of  their  pride,  a  chaste  re- 
serve, a  noli  me  tangere  in  their  demeanor.  The  eldest, 
Comte  Clément  d'Espard,  was  just  entering  his  six- 
teenth year.  For  the  last  two  years  he  had  ceased  to 
wear  the  pretty  English  jacket  which  his  brother  the 
Vicomte  Camille  d'Espard  still  wore.  The  count, 
who  had  now  left  the  school  of  Henri  IV.,  was  dressed 
like  a  young  man  enjoying  the  first  delights  of  ele- 
gance. His  father  had  thought  best  not  to  make  him 
go  through  a  useless  year  in  philosophy,  but  was  try- 
ing to  give  a  sort  of  link  to  his  already  acquired 
knowledge  by  a  course  of  speculative  mathematics. 
At  the  same  time  the  marquis  taught  the  lad  the  orien- 
tal languages,  the  laws  of  European  diplomacy,  her- 
aldry, history  at  its  fountain-head,  that  is  to  say,  the 
history  of  treaties,  charters,  authentic  documents,  and 
the  record  of  ordinances.  The  younger  brother,  Ca- 
mille, had  just  begun  his  rhetoric. 

The  day  on  which  Popinot  set  out  to  examine  Mon- 
sieur d'Espard  was  a  Thursday,  and  a  holiday.  At 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  before  their  father  was 
awake,  the  two  lads  were  playing  in  the  garden. 
Clément  was  opposing,  as  best  he  could,  his  brother's 
desire  to  go  to  a  pistol-gallery,  where  Camille  had 
never  yet  been,  and  the  latter  was  teasing  his  brother  to 
obtain  the  coveted  permission  from  their  father.  The 
viscount  was   apt   to   take   advantage   of   being   the 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  239 

younger  and  the  weaker,  and  took  delight  in  a  contest 
with  his  brother.  They  now  began  to  quarrel  and 
struggle  like  schoolboys.  The  noise  they  made  in 
chasing  each  other  round  the  garden  awoke  their 
father,  who  went  to  the  window,  unseen  by  them  in  the 
heat  of  the  conflict.  He  stood  there,  watching,  with 
pleasure,  the  two  lads  as  they  wrestled  together,  inter- 
laced like  snakes,  their  faces  glowing  with  the  exer- 
tion of  all  their  strength.  As  they  struggled  their 
eyes  flashed  lightning,  their  limbs  were  twisted  into 
living  ropes  ;  they  fell,  they  scrambled  up,  they  caught 
each  other  again  like  athletes  in  a  circus,  giving  their 
father,  as  he  watched  them,  one  of  those  happinesses 
which  compensate  for  the  keenest  pain  of  a  troubled 
life. 

Two  persons,  who  were  tenants  of  the  house,  chanced 
to  observe  the  scene,  and  immediately  reported  to 
others  that  the  old  crazy  man  was  amusing  himself  by 
inciting  his  sons  to  fight.  Several  heads  appeared  at 
the  windows.  The  marquis,  presently  perceiving 
them,  said  a  word  to  his  sons,  who  at  once  climbed 
upon  the  window-sill,  and  jumped  into  the  room, 
where  Clément  obtained  the  permission  wanted  by 
Camille.  Meanwhile  the  tale  of  this  new  sign  of 
craziness  spread  through  the  house. 

When  Popinot,  accompanied  by  his  clerk,  arrived 
at  the  door  about  mid-day,  and  asked  for  Monsieur 
d'Espard,  the  portress  took  him  up  to  the  third  floor, 
telling  him,  as  she  went  along,  how  Monsieur  d'Espard, 
no  later  than  that  very  morning,  had  set  his  two  chil- 
dren to  fighting,  and  laughed,  like  the  monster  that  he 
was,  when  he  saw  the  younger  biting  the  elder  till  the 


240  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

blood  came;  no  doubt  he'd  be  glad  enough  if  they 
killed  themselves. 

"Don't  ask  me  why,"  she  concluded;  "he  doesn't 
know  himself." 

As  she  said  these  decisive  words  they  had  reached 
the  landing  on  the  third  floor  and  were  standing  before 
a  door  bearing  notices  of  the  issue,  in  successive 
parts,  of  the  "Picturesque  History  of  China."  This 
muddy  landing,  the  dirty  balusters,  the  door  on  which 
the  former  printing-office  had  left  its  grimy  marks, 
the  rickety  windows  and  the  ceilings  where  vari- 
ous apprentices  had  drawn  fantastic  gnomes  with  the 
smoky  flame  of  their  tallow  candles,  the  mass  of  papers 
and  rubbish  heaped  in  the  corners,  intentionally,  or 
by  sheer  neglect,  —  in  short,  all  the  details  of  the 
scene  that  now  presented  itself  to  the  eyes  of  Popinot 
agreed  so  well  with  the  allegations  of  the  marquise  that 
the  judge,  in  spite  of  his  impartiality,  was  inclined  to 
believe  her. 

"Here  you  are,  monsieur,"  said  the  portress. 
"Here  's  the  manufacture  where  the  Chinese  eat  enough 
to  feed  the  whole  quarter." 

The  clerk  smiled  as  he  looked  at  the  judge,  and 
Popinot  himself  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  his 
countenance.  The  pair  entered  the  first  room,  where 
was  an  old  man  who  appeared  to  combine  the  duties 
of  office-boy,  shopman,  and  cashier.  He  was  evidently 
the  Maître  Jacques  of  China.  Long  shelves,  on  which 
were  piled  the  published  numbers,  went  round  the 
walls  of  the  room,  at  the  farther  end  of  which  a  wooden 
partition  with  a  wire  screen,  covered  within  by  a 
green  curtain,  formed  an  office.     A  low  opening  in  the 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy,  241 

screen,  through  which  the  money  passed,  showed  the 
position  of  what  might  be  called  the  counting-room. 

"Monsieur  d'Espard  ?  "  said  Popinot,  addressing  the 
old  man,  who  was  dressed  in  a  gray  blouse. 

The  latter  opened  the  door  of  a  second  room,  where 
the  judge  and  his  clerk  saw  a  venerable  old  man  with 
white  hair,  simply  dressed,  but  decorated  with  the 
cross  of  Saint-Louis,  sitting  before  a  desk,  who 
stopped  comparing  colored  pages  to  look  at  the  new- 
comers. This  room  was  a  very  modest  apartment, 
filled  with  books  and  proof-sheets.  In  it  was  a  black 
wooden  table,  at  which,  no  doubt,  some  person  now 
absent  was  in  the  habit  of  working. 

"Is  monsieur  the  Marquis  d'Espard?  "  said  Popinot. 

"No,  monsieur,"  said  the  old  man,  rising.  "Do  you 
wish  to  see  him?"  he  added,  advancing  toward  them, 
and  showing  by  his  demeanor  the  manners  and  habits 
of  a  gentleman. 

"We  wish  to  see  him  on  a  matter  that  is  entirely 
personal  to  himself,"  replied  Popinot. 

"D'Espard,  here  are  two  gentlemen  who  want  you," 
said  the  old  man,  entering  a  third  room,  where  the 
marquis  was  sitting  near  the  fireplace  reading  a 
newspaper. 

This  last  office  had  a  shabby  carpet,  and  the  win- 
dows were  draped  with  gray  linen  curtains;  the  furni- 
ture consisted,  solely,  in  a  few  mahogany  chairs, 
two  arm-chairs,  a  rolling-topped  secretary,  a  desk  à  la 
Tronchin,  and  on  the  fireplace  a  miserable  clock  and 
two  old  candlesticks.  The  old  man  ushered  in  Popi- 
not and  his  clerk,  and  placed  chairs  for  them,  invitirg 
them  to  sit  down,  as  though  he  were  master  of  the 

16 


242  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

establishment.  After  the  usual  salutations,  during 
which  the  judge  observed  the  insane  man  closely,  the 
marquis  very  naturally  inquired  what  was  the  object 
of  the  visit.  Here  Popinot  looked  significantly,  first, 
at  the  old  man,  and  then  at  the  marquis,  as  he  said  : 

4 'Monsieur  le  marquis,  I  think  that  the  nature  of 
my  functions  and  the  inquiry  that  brings  me  here, 
make  it  desirable  that  we  should  be  alone  ;  although 
it  is  in  the  spirit  of  our  laws  that,  in  cases  like  these, 
examinations  should  be  made  with  a  certain  domestic 
publicity.  I  am  a  judge  of  one  of  the  Lower  courts  of 
the  Department  of  the  Seine,  and  I  have  been  appointed 
by  the  chief-justice  to  examine  you  as  to  certain  facts 
set  forth  in  a  request  for  a  commission  in  lunacy  upon 
you,  presented  by  Madame  la  Marquise  d'Espard." 

The  old  man  withdrew.  When  the  judge  and  the 
marquis  were  alone  Popinot' s  clerk  went  to  the  door 
and  closed  it;  then  he  seated  himself,  without  cere- 
mony, at  the  desk  à  la  Tronchin,  unrolled  his  papers, 
and  prepared  to  write  down  the  examination. 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  243 


VII. 


THE   EXAMINATION. 


Popinot  had  not  ceased  to  keep  his  eye  on  Monsieur 
d'Espard  ;  he  observed  the  effect  of  his  announcement, 
cruel,  indeed,  to  a  man  in  his  senses.  The  marquis, 
whose  face  was  usually  pale,  like  that  of  most  fair 
persons,  became  suddenly  scarlet  with  anger.  He 
quivered  slightly,  sat  down,  laid  aside  his  newspaper, 
and  lowered  his  eyes.  But  he  soon  recovered  the  dig- 
nity of  a  gentleman,  and  looked  at  the  judge,  as  if  to 
find  on  his  countenance  some  indications  of  his 
character. 

"Why  have  I  not  been  informed,  before,  of  that 
petition?"  he  asked. 

" Monsieur  le  marquis,  the  persons  for  whom  such 
commissions  are  requested,  being  supposed  not  to  be 
in  their  right  minds,  such  notifications  are  thought 
useless.  The  duty  of  the  court  is,  in  the  first  place, 
to  verify  the  allegations  of  the  petition." 

"Very  true,"  said  the  marquis.  "Therefore,  mon- 
sieur, have  the  goodness  to  point  out  to  me  the  man- 
ner in  which  I  ought  now  to  act." 

"You  need  only  answer  my  inquiries,  omitting  no 
detail,"  replied  Popinot.  "However  delicate  may  be 
the  reasons  which  have  led  you  to  act  in  a  manner 
which  gives  Madame  d'Espard  a  pretext  for  making 


244  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

this  petition,  speak  freely,  and  without  fear.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  point  out  to  you  that  a  magistrate 
knows  his  duty,  and  that  in  such  occurrences  as  these 
the  utmost  secrecy  —  " 

"Monsieur,"  interrupted  the  marquis,  whose  face 
expressed  a  genuine  grief,  "if  from  my  explanations 
it  should  appear  that  Madame  d'Espard  has  been  to 
blame,  what  would  happen  ?  " 

"The  court  would  probably  censure  her  in  giving  the 
reasons  for  its  decision." 

"Would  that  censure  be  optional  with  the  judge? 
If,  before  answering  you,  I  were  to  stipulate  that 
nothing  derogatory  to  Madame  d'Espard  should  be  said 
in  case  your  decision  is  favorable  to  me,  would  the 
court  regard  my  wishes?  " 

The  judge  looked  at  the  marquis,  and  the  two  men 
then  and  there  exchanged  thoughts  of  true  nobility. 

"Noël,"  said  Popinot  to  his  clerk,  "go  into  the  next 
room;  if  I  want  you  I  will  call  you.  Monsieur,"  he 
said  to  the  marquis,  as  soon  as  the  clerk  had  retired, 
"if,  as  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  there  is  some  misun- 
derstanding in  this  matter,  I  can  promise  you  that  the 
court  will  regard  your  wishes  and  act  with  courtesy. 
The  first  fact  alleged  by  Madame  d'Espard,  and  the 
most  serious  fact  of  all,"  he  continued,  after  a  slight 
pause,  "is  one  on  which  I  must  ask  you  to  enlighten 
me.  It  relates  to  the  squandering  of  your  property 
on  a  Madame  Jeanrenaud,  widow  of  a  boatman,  or 
rather,  on  her  son,  a  colonel,  for  whom  you  have 
exhausted  the  favor  you  enjoy  from  the  king,  a  favor 
that  you  ought  to  have  employed  for  your  own  family. 
The  petition  asserts  that  this  friendship  for  the  Jean- 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  245 

renauds  exceeds  all  legitimate  sentiments,  and  even 
goes  beyond  the  limits  of  morality." 

A  sudden  redness  colored  the  face  and  forehead  of 
the  marquis,  his  eyes  moistened;  then  an  honorable 
pride  checked  the  sensibility  which  might  seem  weak- 
ness in  a  man. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  marquis,  in  a  strained  voice, 
"you  throw  me  into  strange  perplexity.  The  motives 
of  my  conduct  ought  to  die  with  me.  In  order  to 
speak  of  them,  I  must  disclose  to  you  secret  circum- 
stances, I  must  put  into  your  keeping  the  honor  of  my 
family,  and  —  a  delicate  matter  which,  perhaps,  you 
will  appreciate  —  I  must  speak  to  you  of  myself.  I 
hope,  monsieur,  that  all  I  say  will  remain  an  absolute 
secret  between  you  and  me.  You  will  surely  be  able 
to  render  your  judicial  opinion  without  referring  to 
the  facts  of  my  revelation  —  " 

"Do  not  be  uneasy  on  that  score,  Monsieur  le  mar- 
quis." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  marquis,  "not  long  after  my 
marriage,  my  wife  had  incurred  such  heavy  expenses 
that  I  was  forced  to  have  recourse  to  a  loan.  You 
know  the  situation  of  noble  families  under  the  Revo- 
lution. I  was  not  able  to  -employ  either  a  bailiff  or 
agent;  in  these  days  nobles  are  forced  to  do  their  own 
business.  Most  of  my  title-deeds  had  been  brought 
to  Paris,  from  Languedoc,  Provence,  and  the  Comtat, 
by  my  father,  who  feared,  alas,  with  good  reason,  the 
researches  then  being  made  into  family  title-deeds  and 
what  were  called  in  those  days  i  parchments  of  privi- 
lege. '  The  actual  name  of  our  family  is  Nègrepelisse. 
D'Espard  is  a  title  acquired  under  Henri  IV.,  by  an 


246  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

alliance  which  gave  us  the  property  and  titles  of  the 
house  of  Espard,  —  an  old  family  of  Beam,  allied  to 
the  house  of  Albret  through  its  female  line,  —  on 
condition  that  we  escutcheoned  its  arms  upon  ours, 
namely:  or,  three  palys  sable,  quartered  azure,  two 
griffin's-paws  talonny  gules,  placed  saltier-wise,  with 
the  well-known  Des  partem  leonis  for  motto.  At  the 
time  of  this  alliance  we  lost  Nègrepelisse,  a  little 
town  as  celebrated  during  the  religious  wars  as  was 
my  ancestor  of  that  day  who  bore  the  name.  That 
great  captain  was  ruined  by  the  burning  of  all  his 
property  by  the  Protestants,  who  did  not  spare  a  friend 
of  Montluc.  The  crown  was  unjust  towards  Monsieur 
de  Nègrepelisse;  it  gave  him  neither  the  marshal's 
bâton,  nor  a  government,  nor  indemnities.  King 
Charles  IX. ,  who  loved  him,  died  before  he  was  able 
to  reward  him.  Henri  IV.  did  arrange  the  marriage 
I  spoke  of  with  Mademoiselle  d'Espard,  which  pro- 
cured him  the  property  of  that  family;  but  the  prop- 
erty of  the  Nègrepelisse  had  passed,  by  that  time,  into 
the  hands  of  creditors.  My  great-grandfather  the 
Marquis  d'Espard  was,  like  myself,  placed  very  young 
at  the  head  of  his  affairs  by  the  death  of  his  father, 
who,  having  dissipated  his  wife's  fortune,  left  his  son 
nothing  but  the  entailed  estates  of  the  d'Espard  family, 
and  those  were  encumbered  with  a  dowry.  The  young 
marquis,  my  great-grandfather,  was,  therefore,  ter- 
ribly embarrassed,  and  all  the  more  so  because  he  held 
an  office  at  court.  He  became,  however,  a  particular 
favorite  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  that  proved  his  brevet  of 
fortune.  At  this  point,  monsieur,  there  came  upon 
our  escutcheon  a  shameful  stain,  a  stain  of  blood  and 


A   Commission  in  Lunacy.  247 

dishonor,  which  I  am  now  employed  in  wiping  out.  I 
discovered  a  secret  in  the  title-deeds  of  the  Nègre- 
pelisse  estates,  and  I  tracked  it  through  much  corre- 
spondence." 

At  this  point  of  his  story  the  marquis  began  to 
speak  without  stuttering;  his  habit  of  repeating  words 
and  sentences  ceased;  for  we  all  know  that  persons 
who  in  ordinary  life  exhibit  those  defects,  get  rid  of 
them  the  moment  that  some  real  passion  inspires  their 
speech. 

"The  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  took  place, 
as  you  know,  monsieur;  but  perhaps  you  do  not  know 
that  to  many  of  the  court  favorites  it  brought  wealth. 
Louis  XIV.  gave  to  the  nobles  of  his  court  the  confis- 
cated property  of  those  Protestants  who  had  not  already 
sold  what  they  owned.  Some  of  the  persons  in  favor 
at  court,  'hunted,'  as  it  was  said,  in  those  days, 
the  Protestants.  I  discovered,  during  my  researches, 
that  the  present  fortune  of  two  of  our  ducal  families 
is  composed  of  the  confiscated  estates  of  those  unfortu- 
nate merchants.  I  need  not  explain  to  you,  a  man  of 
law,  the  manœuvres  employed  and  the  traps  laid  for 
refugees  who  had  property  ;  it  will  suffice  you  to  know 
that  the  former  estate  of  Nègrepelisse,  which  included 
twenty-two  steeples  and  many  of  the  town  rights,  was 
then  the  property  of  a  Protestant  family.  Alas! 
my  grandfather  recovered  it  by  gift  from  Louis  XIV. 
This  gift  was  the  result  of  acts  of  infamous  iniquity. 
The  owner  of  the  property,  thinking  it  was  then  safe 
to  return  to  France,  made  a  mock  sale,  left  his  family 
in  Switzerland,  and  returned  to  France,  intending, 
perhaps,  to   profit  by  all  the   delays  granted   by  the 


248  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

Edict.  This  man  was  arrested  by  order  of  the  gover- 
nor; the  friend  who  had  pretended  to  buy  the  property 
revealed  the  truth,  the  poor  wretch  was  hanged,  and 
my  grandfather  received  his  two  estates.  I  wish  I 
could  be  ignorant  of  the  part  my  grandfather  took  in 
this  affair;  but  the  governor  was  his  uncle,  and  I  have, 
unfortunately,  read  a  letter  in  which  the  uncle  told 
him  to  apply  to  Deodatus,  —  a  name  agreed  upon  by 
courtiers  to  designate  the  king.  That  letter  was 
written  in  a  jesting  tone,  apropos  of  this  crime,  which 
filled  me  with  horror.  In  short,  monsieur,  the  sums 
sent  by  the  exiled  family  to  ransom  the  life  of  that 
poor  man  were  kept  by  the  governor,  who  then  put  his 
victim  to  death." 

The  marquis  stopped,  as  if  these  memories  were  still 
too  bitter  for  him. 

"The  name  of  that  unfortunate  man  was  Jeanre- 
naud,"  he  resumed.  "And  that  name  will  explain 
my  conduct  to  you.  I  could  not  think,  without  the 
deepest  sorrow,  of  the  secret  shame  thus  laid  upon  our 
family  honor.  That  fortune  enabled  my  grandfather 
to  marry  a  Navarreins-Lansac,  the  heiress  of  the 
younger  branch,  then  much  richer  than  the  elder 
branch  of  the  Navarreins.  My  father  consequently 
became  one  of  the  largest  land-owners  in  the  kingdom. 
He  was  able  to  marry  my  mother,  a  Grandlieu  of  the 
younger  branch.  Though  ill-acquired,  our  property 
has  been  strangely  beneficial  to  us!  I  resolved  to 
repair  the  evil  we  had  done.  I  wrote  to  Switzerland, 
and  was  soon  on  the  traces  of  the  Protestant  family. 
I  found  that  the  present  heirs,  reduced  to  the  utmost 
poverty,  had  left  Fribourg  and   returned   to  France. 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  249 

Before  long  I  discovered  in  Monsieur  Jeanrenaud,  a 
lieutenant  of  cavalry  under  Bonaparte,  the  only  re- 
maining heir  of  that  unfortunate  family.  To  my  eyes, 
monsieur,  the  rights  of  the  Jeanrenauds  were  plain. 
But  to  what  courts  could  they  apply  to  recover  them? 
Their  court  of  justice  was  in  heaven  —  or  rather,"  said 
the  marquis,  putting  his  hand  on  his  heart,  "it  was 
here.  I  could  not  endure  that  my  children  should 
think  of  me  as  I  thought  of  my  father  and  my  grand- 
fathers ;  I  wished  to  leave  them  an  escutcheon  without 
a  stain;  I  could  not  suffer  my  nobility  to  be  a  lie. 
I  found  in  Monsieur  Jeanrenaud  and  his  mother  two 
persons  of  strict  probity;  to  hear  them  you  would 
think  that  they  had  robbed  me.  In  spite  of  my 
urgency,  they  have  only  been  willing  to  accept  the 
value  of  their  estates,  such  as  it  was  at  the  time  the 
king  confiscated  them.  The  sum  agreed  upon  was 
eleven  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  they  insisted 
on  my  paying  as  convenient  to  myself  and  without 
interest.  To  do  this,  I  was  forced  to  lay  by  my  in- 
come for  many  years.  And  here,  monsieur,  I  come 
to  the  moment  when  I  began  to  lose  certain  illusions 
which  I  had  had  on  the  nature  and  character  of  my 
wife.  When  I  proposed  to  her  to  leave  Paris  and  live 
for  a  time  on  one  of  my  estates,  where,  with  half  her 
income,  we  could  still  live  honorably  and  make  this 
restitution  (which  I  explained  to  her)  far  more 
rapidly,  Madame  d'Espard  treated  my  proposal  as  if 
I  were  insane.  I  then,  for  the  first  time,  discovered 
her  true  nature.  She  would  have  sanctioned  without 
scruple  my  grandfather's  conduct,  and  would  have 
laughed  at  the  Huguenot's  death.     Outraged  by  her 


250  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

coldness  and  by  her  want  of  feeling  for  her  children, 
whom  she  agreed  to  let  me  take  without  regret,  I 
resolved  to  leave  her  her  own  fortune  and  my  house. 
It  was,  after  all,  as  she  observed  to  me,  not  her  place 
to  assist  in  paying  for  my  mad  follies.  Not  having, 
therefore,  enough  to  live  upon  and  provide  for  the 
education  of  my  children,  I  decided  to  bring  them  up 
myself  and  to  make  men  of  honor  and  gentlemen  of 
them.  By  placing  my  property  in  the  public  funds  I 
have  been  able  to  pay  off  my  great  obligation  much 
sooner  than  I  expected,  because  I  profited  by  the  great 
rise  in  such  securities.  Reserving  four  thousand 
francs  a  year  for  the  subsistence  of  my  sons  and  my- 
self, it  would  have  taken  me  eighteen  years,  paying 
sixty  thousand  a  year,  to  free  myself  wholly  ;  whereas, 
lately,  I  have  been  able  to  pay  off  the  balance  of  the 
eleven  hundred  thousand  francs  that  were  due.  Thus, 
I  have  the  happiness  of  completing  this  restitution 
without  doing  the  slightest  injury  to  my  children.  I 
have  now  told  you  the  reason  for  the  payments  I  have 
made  to  Madame  Jeanrenaud  and  her  son." 

"Then,"  said  the  judge,  restraining  the  emotion 
which  this  statement  caused  him,  "Madame  la  mar- 
quise knew  the  motives  of  your  retirement?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

Popinot  shook  his  shoulders  expressively,  rose  sud- 
denly, and  opened  the  door  of  the  room. 

"Noël,  you  can  go,"  he  said  to  his  clerk.  "Mon- 
sieur," he  continued,  "though  what  you  have  just  said 
suffices  to  enlighten  me,  I  should  wish  to  hear  your 
replies  to  certain  other  facts  alleged  in  the  petition. 
It  seems  that  you  have  undertaken  here  a  commercial 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy,  251 

enterprise  that  is  not  in  accordance  with  the  habits  of 
a  man  of  your  station." 

"We  cannot  speak  of  that  matter  here,"  replied  the 
marquis,  making  the  judge  a  sign  to  follow  him  out. 
"Nouvion,"  he  continued,  to  the  old  gentleman  in  the 
next  room,  "lam  going  down  to  my  own  rooms;  the 
boys  will  be  home  soon;  you'll  dine  with  us,  won't 
you?" 

"Then  these  are  not  your  own  apartments,  Mon- 
sieur le  marquis  ?  "  said  Popinot,  as  they  reached  the 
staircase. 

"No,  monsieur.  I  hired  those  rooms  for  the  enter- 
prise you  mentioned.  See,"  he  added,  pointing  to  a 
poster  on  the  wall,  "this  History  is  being  brought  out 
by  one  of  the  most  distinguished  publishers  in  Paris, 
and  not  by  me." 

The  marquis  then  took  the  judge  into  the  rooms  on 
the  ground-floor,  saying  to  him:  "These  are  my  apart- 
ments, monsieur." 

Popinot  was  naturally  moved  by  the  poetic  charm, 
more  found  than  sought  for,  which  emanated  from  the 
very  panels  of  the  walls.  The  weather  was  magnifi- 
cent ;  the  windows  were  open  ;  the  air  from  the  garden 
filled  the  salon  with  the  scents  of  vegetation  ;  the  sun- 
beams brightened  and  played  upon  the  wainscotings, 
otherwise  too  brown  in  tone.  Beholding  that  scene, 
Popinot  judged  rightly  that  no  insane  man  was  capa- 
ble of  producing  that  sweet  harmony,  the  influence  of 
which  came  over  him  at  once. 

"I  should  like  to  have  just  such  a  home,"  he  thought 
to  himself.  "Shall  you  soon  leave  this  quarter?"  he 
asked,  aloud. 


252  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"I  hope  to,"  replied  the  marquis,  "but  I  shall  wait 
till  my  youngest  boy  has  finished  his  studies,  and  the 
character  of  both  my  sons  is  formed  before  introducing 
them  to  the  world,  and  placing  them  near  their  mother. 
Besides,  after  giving  them  the  solid  education  they 
now  possess,  I  want  to  complete  it  by  making  them 
travel  through  Europe  and  see  men  and  things,  and 
learn  to  speak  the  languages  they  have  studied. 
Monsieur,"  he  said,  making  the  judge  sit  down  in  the 
salon,  "I  could  not  tell  you  about  that  Chinese  publi- 
cation before  my  old  friend,  the  Comte  de  Nouvion, 
an  emigre  who  returned  to  France  without  any  means 
whatever  of  support,  and  with  whom  I  engaged  in  this 
affair,  less  for  myself  than  for  him.  Without  letting 
him  know  the  motives  of  my  retirement,  I  told  him  I 
was,  like  himself,  ruined;  but  that  I  had  just  enough 
to  undertake  a  speculation  in  which  he  could  be  use- 
fully employed.  My  former  tutor  was  the  Abbé 
Grozier,  whom  Charles  X.  appointed,  at  my  request, 
librarian  of  the  Arsenal  library.  The  Abbé  Grozier 
possessed  an  extraordinary  knowledge  of  China,  its 
history,  and  its  manners  and  customs;  he  made  me 
a  sharer  in  it  at  an  age  when  it  is  difficult  not  to  be 
enthusiastic  over  the  things  we  learn.  At  twenty-five 
years  of  age  I  knew  the  Chinese  language,  and  I  must 
own  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  divest  myself  of 
an  extreme  admiration  for  that  people,  who  have  con- 
quered their  conquerors,  whose  annals  go  back  to  a 
period  incontestably  earlier  than  the  remotest  mytho- 
logical and  biblical  eras,  who,  by  immutable  institu- 
tions have  preserved  the  integrity  of  their  borders, 
whose  vast  public  works  are  gigantic,  their  system  of 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy,  253 

administration  perfect,  who  regard  the  beau  ideal  as  a 
principle  of  art,  and  have  carried  luxury  and  industry 
to  so  high  a  degree  that  we  cannot  surpass  it  at  any 
point;  while  they  equal  us  in  those  things  where  we 
think  ourselves  superior.  But,  monsieur,  allow  me 
to  say,  that  if  I  do,  sometimes,  jestingly  compare 
China  with  the  condition  of  our  European  states,  I  am 
not  a  Chinaman,  I  am  a  French  gentleman.  If  you 
have  any  doubts  as  to  the  financial  part  of  this  enter- 
prise, I  can  show  you  that  we  have  two  thousand  five 
hundred  subscribers  to  this  literary,  iconographie, 
statistical,  and  religious  work,  the  importance  of  which 
has  been  very  generally  appreciated.  As  for  me,  I 
have  had  in  view  the  possibility  of  giving  my  sons  a 
few  enjoyments.  The  money  it  has  brought  in  has 
enabled  me  to  pay  for  their  fencing-lessons,  their 
horses,  their  dress,  their  theatres,  the  various  masters 
they  have  had,  the  canvases  they  daub,  the  books  they 
want  to  own,  —  in  short,  all  those  youthful  fancies 
which  it  gives  a  father  such  happiness  to  gratify.  If 
I  had  been  forced  to  deny  such  enjoyments  to  my  poor 
boys,  who  have  been  so  brave  in  their  studies,  the 
sacrifice  I  have  made  to  the  honor  of  our  name  would 
have  been  doubly  painful.  It  is  true,  monsieur,  that 
the  twelve  years  during  which  I  have  retired  from  the 
world  have  cost  me  complete  oblivion  at  court.  I 
have  abandoned  my  political  career;  I  have  lost  my 
historical  position,  and  the  distinction  that  my  own 
life  and  deeds  might  have  bequeathed  to  my  children  ; 
but  our  house  has  really  lost  nothing;  my  sons  will 
distinguish  it.  If  I  am  unable  to  obtain  the  peerage 
myself,  they  will  win  it,  by  devoting  themselves  to 


254  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

the  interests  of  their  country  and  rendering  her  those 
services  which  can  never  be  forgotten.  So  that  in 
cleansing  the  past  of  our  family  I  have  really  secured 
it  a  noble  future.  Is  not  that  a  glorious  task  to  have 
done,  though  secretly,  and  with  no  outward  glory 
attaching  to  it?  Have  you  any  other  questions  to  put 
to  me,  monsieur  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  noise  of  several  horses  was 
heard  below  in  the  court-yard. 

"There  they  are,"  said  the  marquis. 

Presently  the  two  lads,  whose  dress  was  both  simple 
and  elegant,  ran  into  the  room,  booted,  spurred,  and 
gloved,  and  gayly  flourishing  their  whips.  Their  ani- 
mated faces  brought  in  with  them  the  freshness  and  life 
of  the  outer  air;  they  were  sparkling  with  health. 
Both  came  up  to  press  their  father's  hand,  exchangings 
with  him,  as  between  friends,  a  glance  of  silent  affec- 
tion; then  they  bowed  stiffly  to  the  judge.  Popinot 
reflected  that  it  was  quite  unnecessary  to  question  the 
father  as  to  his  relations  with  his  sons. 

"Well,  have  you  amused  yourselves?"  asked  the 
marquis. 

"Yes,  papa;  and  I  hit  the  bull's  eye  six  times  in 
twelve  shots,  —  the  first  time  of  trying  Î  "  cried 
Camille. 

"Where  did  you  ride?" 

"To  the  Bois,  where  we  saw  mamma." 

"Did  she  stop?" 

"No,  we  were  going  so  fast  at  the  time  that  per- 
haps she  did  not  see  us,"  replied  Clément. 

"But  you  ought  to  have  gone  up  and  presented 
yourselves." 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  255 

"I  have  noticed,  papa,  that  she  does  n't  like  us  to  do 
so  in  public,  — we  are  too  big,"  added  Clément,  in  a 
low  voice. 

The  judge's  ears  were  quick  enough  to  hear  the 
words,  which  caused  a  slight  frown  on  the  father's 
face.  Popinot  took  delight  in  this  little  scene  between 
the  father  and  sons.  His  eyes,  filled  with  a  sort  of 
tenderness,  returned  again  and  again  to  the  face  of 
the  marquis,  whose  features,  countenance,  and  man- 
ners presented  the  idea  of  honor  in  its  noblest  form, 

—  high-minded  and  chivalric  honor,  nobleness  in  all 
its  beauty. 

"You  —  you  see,  monsieur,"  said  the  marquis,  stut- 
tering again,  "you  see  that  the  law  —  the  law  may 
enter  here  —  here  at  any  time.     If  there  is  madness 

—  madness  it  must  be  in  the  children,  who  are  a  little 
crazy  about  their  father  ;  though,  indeed,  the  father  is 
very  crazy  about  the  children.  But  it  is  a  sane  insan- 
ity, monsieur,"  he  added,  smiling. 

At  this  moment  the  voice  of  Madame  Jeanrenaud 
was  heard  in  the  antechamber,  and  the  good  woman 
made  her  way  into  the  salon  in  spite  of  the  remon- 
strances of  the  valet. 

"I  don't  take  four  roads  to  get  my  ends,"  she  was 
saying.  "Yes,  Monsieur  le  marquis,"  making  a  bow 
all  round,  "I  must  speak  to  you  at  once  —  Parbleu  !  " 
she  cried,  interrupting  herself,  "have  I  come  too  late? 
there  's  the  police  judge!  " 

"Police!  "  cried  the  two  lads. 

"There  were  mighty  good  reasons  why  I  didn't  find 
you  at  home,"  she  continued,  addressing  Popinot, 
"since   you   are  here.     Ah,   bah!  the  law  is  always 


256  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

about  when  there 's  harm  to  be  done.  I  've  come, 
Monsieur  le  marquis,  to  tell  you  that  my  son  and  I 
have  agreed  to  return  you  everything,  because  our 
honor  is  concerned  in  it.  My  son  and  I  would  rather 
give  up  everything  than  that  you  should  be  grieved. 
Faith!  your  people  must  be  as  stupid  as  jugs  without 
handles  to  call  you  a  lunatic!  " 

"A  lunatic!  our  father?  "  cried  the  two  boys,  press- 
ing up  against  him."     "What  does  it  all  mean?  " 

"Hush,  madame,"  said  Popinot. 

"Leave  us,  my  children,"  said  the  marquis. 

The  two  lads  went  into  the  garden  without  making 
any  observation,  uneasy  though  they  were. 

"Madame,"  said  the  judge,  "the  sums  that  Mon- 
sieur le  marquis  has  paid  you  were  legally  due,  though 
they  have  been  paid  in  virtue  of  a  sense  of  honor 
that  is  unusually  high.  If  persons  possessing  confis^ 
cated  property  —  no  matter  how  acquired,  perhaps 
treacherously  —  were  compelled,  after  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  to  make  restitution,  we  should  find  few 
families  owning  legitimate  property  in  France.  The 
estates  of  Jacques  Cœur  enriched  twenty  noble  fam- 
ilies; the  shameless  confiscations  of  the  English  to  the 
profit  of  their  adherents,  when  England  possessed  a 
part  of  France,  have  made  the  fortune  of  several  of 
our  princely  houses.  The  laws  allow  Monsieur  le 
marquis  to  dispose  of  the  income  of  his  property  even 
to  giving  it  away,  without  exposing  him  to  a  charge 
of  dissipation.  The  removal  of  a  man  from  the  man- 
aging of  his  estates  as  insane  must  rest  on  the  absence 
of  all  reason  in  his  actions.  Now,  in  this  case,  the 
reason  of  the  payments  which  have  been  made  to  you 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  257 

is  found  in  the  most  sacred  of  all  motives,  and  the  most 
honorable.  Therefore,  you  can  justly  keep  those  pay- 
ments and  leave  the  world  to  basely  interpret  a  noble 
act.  In  Paris  the  purest  virtue  is  the  object  of  the  vilest 
calumnies.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the  present  state  of 
society  should  render  this  conduct  of  Monsieur  le 
marquis  sublime.  I  would,  for  the  honor  of  our  land, 
that  such  acts  were  matters  of  course  ;  but  customs  and 
morals  are  now  such  that  I  am  forced,  by  comparison, 
to  regard  Monsieur  d'Espard  as  a  man  who  deserves  a 
crown  rather  than  the  threat  of  a  lunatic  asylum. 
During  the  whole  course  of  a  loug  judicial  life  I  have 
seen  aud  heard  nothing  which  has  so  moved  me  as 
what  I  have  this  day  heard  and  seen.  But  there  is 
nothing  extraordinary  in  finding  virtue  under  its 
noblest  form  when  put  in  practice  by  men  of  the 
highest  classes.  After  thus  explaining  myself,  Mon- 
sieur le  marquis,  I  hope  you  will  feel  sure  of  my 
silence,  and  that  you  will  have  no  further  uneasiness 
about  the  judgment  which  will  be  rendered,  —  if,  in- 
deed, there  should  be  any  judgment." 

"Come,  that's  right,"  said  Madame  Jeanrenaud, 
"there's  a  judge  for  you!  Bless  us!  my  dear  mon- 
sieur, I  'd  kiss  you  if  I  was  n't  too  ugly  ;  you  talk  like 
a  book." 

The  marquis  held  out  his  hand  to  Popinot,  and  Po- 
pinot  gently  struck  his  own  into  it,  giving  that  great 
hero  of  private  life  a  look  full  of  penetrating  sym- 
pathy, to  which  the  marquis  responded  by  a  smile.  The 
two  natures,  so  full,  so  rich,  one  bourgeois  and  divine, 
the  other  noble  and  glorious,  had  softly  met  in  unison, 
without  the  jar,  without  the  excitement  of  emotion, 

17 


258  A   Commission  in  Lunacy. 

but  gently,  as  if  two  rays  of  purest  light  had  melted 
into  one.  The  father  of  the  pauper  quarter  felt  worthy 
to  press  the  hand  of  a  man  twice  noble,  and  the  mar- 
quis, in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  felt  that  the  hand  of 
the  judge  was  one  from  which  came,  ceaselessly,  the 
treasures  of  benevolence. 

"Monsieur  le  marquis,"  said  Popinot,  bowing,  "I 
am  happy  to  tell  you  that  after  the  first  words  between 
us  I  felt  that  the  services  of  my  clerk  were  not  needed." 
Then  he  went  closer  to  the  marquis,  and  led  him  aside 
to  a  window,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "It  is  high 
time  that  you  should  go  back  to  your  own  house  and 
live  there.  In  my  opinion,  Madame  la  marquise  is 
acting  under  an  influence  which  you  ought  to  putNan 
end  to  at  once." 

Popinot  departed,  but  he  looked  back  several  times 
in  the  court-yard  and  in  the  street,  moved  by  the 
memory  of  these  scenes.  They  belong  to  those  which 
implant  themselves  in  the  memory,  to  bloom  again  at 
certain  times  and  seasons  when  the  soul  is  in  need  of 
consolation. 

"That  apartment  would  suit  me  exactly,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  as  he  reached  home. 

The  next  day,  about  ten  o'clock,  Popinot,  who  had 
written  out  his  report  the  night  before,  set  forth  to 
the  Palais  with  the  full  intention  of  doing  prompt  and 
signal  justice.  As  he  entered  the  robing-room  to  get 
his  gown  and  put  on  his  bands,  the  servant  in  charge 
of  the  room  told  him  that  the  President  of  the  Courts 
begged  him  to  go  to  him  at  once,  before  he  went  to 
his  own  office.     Popinot  did  so  immediately. 

"Good-morning,  my  dear  Popinot,"  said  the  magis- 
trate, taking  him  aside. 


A  Commission  in  Lunacy.  259 


44" 


'Is  the  matter  serious?"  asked  the  judge. 

"No,  a  mere  trifle,"  replied  the  president.  "The 
Keeper  of  the  Seals,  with  whom  I  dined  last  night, 
took  me  aside  after  dinner.  He  had  heard  that  you 
went  to  take  tea  with  Madame  d'Espard,  in  connec- 
tion with  a  case  which  your  chief-justice  intrusted  to 
you.  He  made  me  understand  that  it  would  be  better 
if  you  were  not  allowed  to  sit  in  that  case." 

"Ah!  monsieur,  but  I  can  prove  that  I  left  Madame 
d'Espard's  house  the  moment  that  tea  was  brought  in; 
besides,  my  conscience  —  " 

"Yes,  yes!"  interrupted  the  president,  "we  all, 
the  court,  the  Palais  everyone  knows  you.  I  shall  not 
repeat  what  I  say  of  you  to  his  Excellency.  But  you 
know,  my  dear  Popinot,  Caesar's  wife  must  not  be  sus- 
pected. We  don't  make  this  silly  matter  an  affair  of 
discipline,  only  of  caution.  Between  ourselves,  it 
relates  less  to  you  than  to  the  interests  of  our  court." 

"But  if  you  knew  the  sort  of  —  "  began  Popinot, 
pulling  his  report  from  his  pocket. 

"I  know  perfectly  well  that  you  have  shown  the 
utmost  independence  in  this  affair.  I,  myself,  when  I 
was  a  judge  in  the  provinces,  I  have  often  taken 
much  more  than  a  cup  of  tea  with  persons  who  had 
cases  to  be  tried  before  me.  But  it  suffices  that  the 
Keeper  of  the  Seals  has  taken  the  matter  up;  the 
matter  may  get  talked  about,  and  it  is  all  important 
that  our  courts  should  avoid  such  discussions.  All 
conflict  with  public  opinion  is  dangerous  for  consti- 
tuted bodies,  even  if  the  right  is  on  the  side  of  the 
latter,  because  the  weapons  are  not  equal.  Journalism 
can  say  all,  and  suggest  all  ;  but  our  dignity  forbids 


260  A  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

us  to  make  any  defence,  or  even  reply.  Besides,  I 
have  already  conferred  with  the  chief-justice  of  your 
court,  and  he  has  appointed  Monsieur  Camusot  to  take 
your  place  on  this  case.  In  short,  I  must  ask  you  to 
relinquish  it  as  a  personal  service  to  me.  In  return 
you  shall  have  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor, 
which  has  long  been  your  due,  and  which  I  shall  now 
make  it  my  business  to  procure  for  you." 

Beholding,  at  this  moment,  Monsieur  Camusot,  a 
judge  recently  promoted  from  the  provinces  to  Paris, 
who  advanced  smiling  and  bowing  to  the  president 
and  judge,  Popinot  could  not  restrain  a  sarcastic 
smile.  This  pale  and  fair  young  man,  filled  with 
secret  ambition,  seemed  ready  to  hang  and  unhang  at 
the  will  of  the  kings  of  the  earth,  the  innocent  and 
guilty  alike.  Popinot  retired,  bowing  to  the  president, 
and  disdaining  to  defend  himself  farther  from  the  lying 
accusation  brought  against  him. 


THE   RURAL   BALL. 


THE     RURAL    BALL. 


To   Henri  de  Balzac, 

His  Brother, 

Honore*. 
I. 

A   REBELLIOUS   YOUNG   GIRL.   * 

The  Comte  de  Fontaine,  head  of  one  of  the  most 
ancient  families  in  Poitou,  had  served  the  cause  of 
the  Bourbons  with  courage  and  intelligence  during  the 
war  which  the  Vendéans  made  against  the  Republic. 
After  escaping  the  dangers  that  threatened  the  royalist 
leaders  during  that  stormy  period  of  contemporaneous 
history,  he  said,  gayly:  "I  am  one  of  those  who  are 
fated  to  be  killed  on  the  steps  of  the  throne."  This 
little  jest  was  not  without  truth,  as  to  a  man  left  for 
dead  on  the  bloody  day  of  the  Quatre-Chemins. 

Though  ruined  by  confiscations,  the  faithful  Vendéan 
refused  the  lucrative  places  which  were  offered  to 
him  by  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  Uncompromising  in 
his  religion  of  aristocracy  he  had  blindly  followed  its 
axioms  when  he  thought  proper  to  take  à  wife.  In 
spite  of  the  offers  of  a  rich  revolutionary  parvenu, 
who  was  willing  to  pay  a  high  price  for  such  an  alii- 


264  The  Rural  Ball. 

ance,  he  married  a  Demoiselle  de  Kergarouët,  a  girl 
without  fortune,  but  whose  family  is  one  of  the  oldest 
in  Brittany.  At  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  Monsieur 
de  Fontaine  was  burdened  with  a  numerous  family. 
Though  he  did  not  share  the  ideas  of  the  greedy  nobles 
who  begged  for  favors,  he  yielded  to  his  wife's  request, 
left  his  country  domain,  the  modest  revenues  of  which 
barely  sufficed  for  the  needs  of  his  children,  and  came 
to  Paris.  Shocked  by  the  avidity  shown  by  many  of 
his  old  comrades  for  the  places  and  dignities  of  the 
new  régime,  he  was  about  to  return  to  Poitou,  when 
he  received  an  official  letter  in  which  a  well-known 
minister  informed  him  of  his  appointment  to  the  rank 
of  brigadier-general,  in  virtue  of  the  ordinance  which 
allowed  the  officers  of  the  Catholic  armies  to  count  the 
twenty  years  of  Louis  XVIII. 's  exiled  reign  as  years 
of  service.  Some  days  later  the  count  received,  with- 
out solicitation,  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor  and 
that  of  the  order  of  Saint-Louis. 

Shaken  in  his  resolution  by  these  successive  favors, 
which  he  thought  he  owed  to  the  monarch's  memory, 
he  no  longer  contented  himself  with  taking  his  family, 
as  he  had  done  religiously  every  Sunday  morning,  to 
the  Salle  des  Maréchaux  to  shout  "Vive  le  roi!  "  when 
the  princes  passed  on  their  way  to  Mass  ;  he  asked 
the  favor  of  a  private  audience.  This  audience,  in- 
stantly granted,  had,  however,  nothing  private  about 
it.  The  royal  salon  was  full  of  old  royalists,  whose 
powdered  heads  seen  at  a  certain  level  looked  like  a 
carpet  of  snow.  There,  the  count  met  with  a  number 
of  his  old  companions  in  arms,  who  received  him 
rather  stiffly;  but  the  princes  were  adorable,  a  term  of 


The  Rural  Ball.  265 

enthusiasm  which  escaped  him  when  the  most  gracions 
of  his  masters,  whom  the  count  supposed  to  know 
barely  his  name,  came  up  and  pressed  his  hand,  and 
called  him  the  purest  and  most  disinterested  of  the 
Vendéans. 

But  in  spite  of  this  ovation,  none  of  these  august 
personages  thought  of  asking  him  the  amount  of  his 
losses  in  their  cause,  nor  that  of  the  money  he  had 
generously  poured  out  for  the  maintenance  of  the 
Catholic  army.  He  found,  too  late,  that  he  had  made 
war  at  his  own  expense.  Toward  the  end  of  the  even- 
ing he  thought  he  might  risk  a  witty  allusion  to  the 
state  of  his  affairs.  His  Majesty  laughed  heartily; 
any  speech  that  bore  the  stamp  of  wit  was  sure  of 
pleasing  him  ;  but  for  all  that,  he  replied  with  one  of 
those  royal  jests  whose  soft  speciousness  is  more  to 
be  feared  than  a  reprimand.  One  of  the  king's  confi- 
dential intimates  soon  after  approached  the  Vendéan 
and  let  him  know,  in  a  guarded  and  civil  manner,  that 
the  time  had  not  yet  come  to  make  claims  upon 
the  masters,  for  there  were  others  on  the  tapis  whose 
services  were  of  longer  date  than  his.  The  count  on 
this  retired  from  the  group  which  formed  a  semi-circle 
in  front  of  the  august  royal  family.  Then,  after  dis- 
engaging his  sword,  not  without  difficulty,  from  the 
midst  of  the  weak  old  legs  which  surrounded  him, 
he  made  his  way  on  foot  across  the  court-yard  of  the 
Tuileries,  to  a  hackney-coach  which  he  had  left  upon 
the  quay.  With  that  restive  spirit  which  characterizes 
the  nobility  of  the  vieille  roche,  in  whom  the  memory 
of  the  League  and  the  Barricades  is  not  yet  extinct, 
he  grumbled  aloud,  as  he  drove  along,  on  the  change 
that  was  visible  at  court. 


266  The  Rural  Ball 

"Formerly,"  he  said,  "every  man  could  speak  freely 
to  the  king  of  his  affairs  ;  the  seigneurs  could  ask  at 
their  ease  for  money  and  offices;  but  now  it  appears 
we  cannot  even  ask  without  scandal  for  the  sums  we 
have  advanced  iu  his  service.  Morbleu!  the  cross  of 
Saint-Louis  and  the  rank  of  general  are  no  equivalent 
for  the  three  hundred  thousand  francs  that  from  first 
to  last  I  have  spent  on  the  royal  cause.  I  will  speak 
face  to  face  with  the  king  in  his  private  cabinet." 

This  scene  chilled  the  zeal  of  Monsieur  de  Fontaine, 
all  the  more  because  his  requests  for.  an  audience 
were  left  without  reply.  He  saw  the  intruders  of  the 
Empire  successful  in  obtaining  various  offices  reserved 
under  the  old  monarchy  for  the  best  families. 

"All  is  lost,"  he  said,  one  morning.  "The  king  has 
never  been  anything  but  revolutionary.  If  it  were  not 
for  Monsieur,  who  never  derogates  from  the  true 
régime,  and  consoles  his  faithful  followers,  I  don't 
know  what  would  become  of  the  crown  of  France. 
Their  cursed  constitutional  system  is  the  worst  of  all 
governments,  and  will  never  suit  France.  Louis 
XVIII.  and  Monsieur  Beugnot  ruined  everything  for 
us  at  Saint-Ouen." 

The  count,  in  despair,  was  again  preparing  to  return 
to  his  country  home,  abandoning  all  his  claims  to  in- 
demnity; but,  at  that  moment,  the  events  of  the  20th 
of  March  produced  a  new  tempest,  which  threatened  to 
engulf  the  legitimate  king  and  his  defenders.  Like 
those  generous  souls  who  will  not  send  out  their  ser- 
vants in  the  rain,  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  borrowed 
money  on  his  estate  to  follow  the  retreating  monarchy, 
without  knowing  whether  his  emigration  would  stand 


The  Rural  Ball.  267 

him  in  better  stead  than  his  former  devotion.  But, 
having  observed  that  the  companions  of  the  king's 
former  exile  stood  higher  in  his  favor  than  those  who 
stayed  behind  and  protested  arms  in  hand  against  the 
Republic,  he  may  have  considered  that  this  journey 
into  foreign  lands  would  be  more  to  his  benefit  than 
a  perilous  and  active  service  in  France.  He  was, 
therefore,  to  use  the  saying  of  our  wittiest  and  ablest 
diplomatist,  one  of  the  five  hundred  faithful  servants 
who  shared  the  exile  of  the  court  to  Ghent,  and  one  of 
the  fifty  thousand  who  returned  from  it. 

During  this  short  absence  of  royalty,  Monsieur  de 
Fontaine  had  the  luck  of  being  employed  by  Louis 
XVIII. ,  and  of  finding  more  than  one  occasion  to  give 
him  proofs  of  great  political  sense  and  sincere  attach- 
ment to  his  person.  One  evening,  when  the  king  had 
nothing  better  to  do,  he  remembered  the  witty  remark 
the  count  had  made  to  him  at  the  Tuileries.  The  old 
Vendéan  did  not  let  the  opportunity  slip  ;  he  related 
his  history  so  cleverly  that  the  king,  who  forgot  noth- 
ing, was  likely  to  remember  it  in  due  season.  The 
royal  literary  man  soon  after  noticed  the  graceful  turn 
of  phrase  given  to  certain  notes  he  had  confided  to 
the  count  to  write  for  him;  and  this  little  merit, 
together  with  his  wit,  placed  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  in 
the  king's  memory  as  one  of  the  most  loyal  servants 
of  the  crown.  At  the  second  Restoration  the  count 
was  appointed  one  of  the  envoys  extraordinary  to  go 
through  the  departments  and  pass  judgment  on  the 
guilty  actors  of  the  rebellion  ;  he  used  his  terrible  power 
moderately.  As  soon  as  this  temporary  jurisdiction 
was  over  he  entered  the  Council  of  State,  became  a 


268  The  Rurccl  Ball. 

deputy,  spoke  little,  listened  much,  and  changed  con- 
siderably in  his  opinions.  Certain  circumstances,  un- 
known to  biographers,  brought  him  into  such  intimate 
relations  with  the  king  that  the  witty  monarch  one 
day  said  to  him  :  — 

"Friend  Fontaine,  I  shall  never  dream  of  appointing 
you  to  any  post.  Neither  you  nor  I,  if  we  were  em- 
ployés, could  keep  our  places,  on  account  of  our  opin- 
ions. Representative  government  has  one  good  thing 
about  it;  it  saves  us  the  trouble  we  formerly  had  in 
getting  rid  of  our  secretaries  of  Statîe.  The  Council 
is  now  a  sort  of  wayside  inn,  where  public  opinion 
sends  us  queer  travellers  ;  however,  we  can  always  find 
some  place  to  put  a  faithful  servant." 

This  somewhat  satirical  opening  was  followed  by  a 
special  ordinance  giving  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  the 
administration  of  a  part  of  the  Crown  domain.  In 
consequence  of  the  intelligent  attention  with  which  he 
listened  to  the  sarcasms  of  his  royal  friend,  his  name 
was  often  on  his  Majesty's  lips  whenever  there  was  a 
commission  to  be  created  which  offered  a  lucrative 
appointment.  The  count  had  the  good  sense  to  say 
nothing  about  the  favors  the  king  showed  him;  and 
he  had  the  art  of  entertaining  his  royal  master  by  a 
piquant  manner  of  telling  a  story  during  those  famil- 
iar conversations  in  which  Louis  XVIII.  took  as  much 
delight  as  he  did  in  political  anecdotes,  diplomatic 
cancans  (if  we  may  use  that  word  in  such  connec- 
tion), or  the  reading  and  writing  of  elegant  little 
notes.  It  is  well  known  that  the  details  of  his  "gov- 
ernmentability,"  as  the  august  jester  called  it,  amused 
him  infinitely. 


The  Rural  Ball.  269 

Thanks  to  the  good  sense,  wit,  an  (^cleverness  of  the 
Comte  de  Fontaine,  every  member  of  his  numerous 
family,  young  as  they  were,  ended,  as  he  said  in  jest 
to  his  master,  by  fastening  like  silk-worms  on  the 
leaves  of  the  budget.  His  eldest  son  obtained  an 
eminent  place  in  the  permanent  magistracy.  The 
second,  a  mere  captain  before  the  Restoration,  received 
a  legion  on  the  return  from  Ghent,  entered  the  Royal 
Guard,  thence  into  the  body-guard,  and  became  a  lieu- 
tenant-general after  the  affair  of  the  Trocadéro.  "the 
youngest  son,  appointed  first  a  sub-prefect,  was  soon 
after  Master  of  Petitions  and  a  director  of  one  of  the 
municipal  departments  of  the  city  of  Paris.  These 
favors,  given  quietly,  and  kept  as  secret  as  the  count's 
own  favor  with  the  king,  were  showered  upon  him 
unperceived  by  the  public.  Though  the  father  and 
his  three  sons  had  each  sinecures  enough  to  give  them 
a  budgetary  revenue  that  was  nearly  equal  to  that  of 
a  director-general,  their  political  good  luck  excited 
no  envy.  In  those  days  when  the  constitutional  system 
was  just  established,  few  persons  had  any  correct  ideas 
as  to  the  quiet  regions  of  the  budget,  or  the  number 
of  favorites  who  contrived  to  find  there  the  equivalent 
of  destroyed  monasteries. 

Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Fontaine,  who  had  formerly 
boasted  of  never  having  read  the  Charter  and  had 
shown  such  displeasure  at  the  eager  avidity  of  cour- 
tiers, was  not  long  in  proving  to  his  august  master 
that  he  understood  perfectly  well  the  proper  spirit 
and  resources  of  a  representative.  Nevertheless,  in 
spite  of  the  careers  opened  to  his  three  sons,  Monsieur 
de  Fontaine's  numerous  family  was  too  numerous  to 


270  The  Rural  Ball. 

allow  him  to  become  a  rich  man  all  at  once.  In  addi- 
tion to  his  three  sons  he  had  three  daughters,  and  he 
feared  to  wear  out  the  bounty  of  the  king.  On 
reflection,  he  thought  it  better  not  to  mention  to  his 
august  master  more  than  one  at  a  time  of  these  virgins, 
all  waiting  to  light  their  lamps.  The  king  had  too 
much  sense  of  the  becoming  to  leave  his  work  unfin- 
ished. The  marriage  of  the  first  daughter  with  a 
receiver-general,  Planât  de  Baudry,  was  arranged  by 
one  of  those  short  royal  sentences  which  cost  nothing 
and  bestow  millions.  One  evening,  when  the  king  was 
sulky,  he  laughed  on  learning  the  existence  of  a  second 
Demoiselle  de  Fontaine;  nevertheless,  he  married  her 
to  a  young  magistrate, —  of  bourgeois  descent,  it  is  true, 
but  rich,  and  full  of  talent,  and  he  made  him  a  baron. 
But  when,  the  following  year,  the  Vendéan  let  drop  a 
few  words  about  a  Mademoiselle  Emilie  de  Fontaine, 
the  king  replied,  in  his  sour  little  voice:  — 

"Amicus  Plato,  seal  magis  arnica  natio." 

Then,  a  few  days  later,  he  presented  his  "friend 
Fontaine  "  with  a  rather  silly  quatrain,  which  he  called 
an  epigram,  in  which  he  teased  him  about  three 
daughters  produced  so  opportunely  in  the  form  of  a 
trinity.  If  the  chronicle  be  true,  the  monarch  had 
made  the  unity  of  the  three  persons  the  point  of  his 
wit. 

"Would  the  king  deign  to  change  his  epigram  into 
an  epithalamium,"  suggested  the  count,  endeavoring 
to  turn  this  freak  to  his  profit. 

"I  don't  see  the  rhyme  nor  the  reason  of  that  re- 
mark," said  the  king,  harshly,  not  at  all  pleased  at  any 
joke  about  his  poetry,  however  gentle  it  might  be. 


The   Rural  Ball  2T1 

From  that  day  his  relations  with  Monsieur  de  Fon- 
taine were  less  cordial.  Kings  like  contradiction 
more  than  we  imagine. 

Emilie  de  Fontaine,  like  many  youngest  children, 
was  the  Benjamin  of  the  family,  and  spoiled  by  every- 
one. The  king's  coldness  was  all  the  more  distressing 
to  the  count  because  the  marriage  of  this  petted  dar- 
ling proved  to  be  an  exceedingly  difficult  one  to  carry 
through.  To  understand  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of 
it,  we  must  enter  the  fine  hôtel  where  the  government 
official  lodged  with  his  family  at  the  cost  of  the  Civil 
List. 

Emilie  had  spent  her  childhood  on  the  Fontaine 
estate,  enjoying  that  abundance  which  suffices  to  the 
pleasures  of  early  youth.  Her  slightest  wishes  were 
laws  to  her  sisters,  brothers,  mother,  and  even  to  her 
father.  All  her  relations  idolized  her.  As  she  reached 
girlhood  at  the  very  moment  when  her  family  were  at 
the  summit  of  fortune's  favors,  the  enchantment  of  her 
life  continued.  The  luxury  of  Paris  seemed  to  her  as 
natural  as  the  wealth  of  flowers  and  fruit,  and  the  rural 
opulence  which  had  made  the  happiness  of  her  earliest 
years.  She  had  never  been  opposed  in  her  childhood 
in  satisfying  her  joyous  fancies,  and  now,  at  the  age 
of  fifteen,  when  she  was  flung  into  the  vortex  of  the 
great  world,  she  found  herself  still  obeyed. 

Accustomed,  by  degrees,  to  the  enjoyments  of 
wealth,  the  elegancies  of  dress,  gorgeous  salons,  and 
equipages  became  as  necessary  to  her  as  the  flattery, 
true  or  false,  of  compliments,  and  the  fêtes  and  vani- 
ties of  the  court.  Like  many  spoiled  children,  she 
tyrannized  over  those  who  loved  her,  and  reserved  her 


272  The  Rural  Ball. 

coquetries  for  the  persons  who  took  least  notice  of  her. 
Her  defects  grew  with  her  growth,  and  her  parents 
were  soon  to  gather  the  bitter  fruits  of  this  fatal 
education. 

At  nineteen  years  of  age,  Emilie  de  Fontaine  had 
not  yet  been  willing  to  select,  as  her  husband,  any  of 
the  numerous  young  men  whom  her  father's  policy 
assembled  at  his  fêtes.  Although  so  young,  she 
enjoyed  as  much  freedom  in  society  as  though  she 
were  a  woman.  Her  beauty  was  so  remarkable  that 
no  sooner  did  she  enter  a  room  than  she  seemed  to 
reign  there  ;  but,  like  kings,  she  had  no  friends,  and 
no  lovers;  a  better  nature  than  hers,  feeling  itself 
the  object  of  so  much  admiration,  would  not  have 
repelled  it  as  she  did.  No  man,  not  even  an  old 
man,  had  nerve  enough  to  contradict  the  opinions  of  a 
girl  the  mere  glance  of  whose  eyes  roused  love  in  a 
cold  heart. 

Brought  up  with  a  care  that  her  sisters  had  lacked, 
she  had  various  accomplishments;  she  painted  fairly 
well,  she  spoke  English  and  Italian,  played  on  the 
piano  remarkably  well,  and  her  voice,  trained  by  the 
best  masters,  had  a  timbre  which  gave  to  her  singing 
an  irresistible  charm.  Witty  by  nature,  and  well-read 
in  literature,  she  might  have  been  thought,  as  Masca- 
rille  says  of  «people  of  quality,  to  have  been  born  into 
the  world  knowing  everything.  She  argued  fluently 
about  Italian  or  Flemish  art,  on  the  middle  ages  or 
the  renaissance,  and  gave  her  opinion  right  and  left 
on  books  ancient  or  modern,  bringing  out,  sometimes 
with  cruel  cleverness,  the  defects  of  some  work.  The 
simplest  of  her  remarks  were  received  by  an  idolizing 


The  Rural  Ball.  273 

crowd  on  their  knees.  She  dazzled  superficial  persons  ; 
but  as  for  wiser  ones,  her  natural  tact  enabled  her  to 
recognize  them,  and  to  them  she  was  so  winning,  so 
coquettish,  that  she  escaped  examination  under  cover 
of  her  flatteries.  This  attractive  varnish  covered  an 
indifferent  heart,  an  opinion,  common  to  many  young 
girls,  that  no  one  inhabited  a  sphere  lofty  enough  to 
comprehend  the  excellence  of  her  soul,  and  a  personal 
pride  based  more  on  her  birth  than  on  her  beauty.  In 
the  absence  of  the  more  ardent  sentiments  which, 
sooner  or  later,  ravage  the  heart  of  woman,  Emilie 
spent  her  youthful  ardor  in  an  immoderate  worship  of 
distinction,  expressing  the  utmost  contempt  for  every- 
thing plebeian.  Very  haughty  toward  the  new  nobility, 
she  did  her  best  to  make  her  parents  keep  strictly  to 
the  social  lines  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain. 

This  disposition  in  his  daughter  had  not  escaped  the 
observing  eye  of  Monsieur  de  Fontaine,  who  had  more 
than  once  been  made  to  wince  under  her  sarcasms  and 
witty  sayings  at  the  time  of  the  marriage  of  her  elder 
sisters.  Logical  minds  might,  in  fact,  be  surprised 
to  see  the  old  Vendéan  giving  his  eldest  daughter  to 
a  receiver-general  who  had  acquired  possession  of  old 
seignorial  property  by  confiscation;  and  the  second 
to  a  magistrate  too  lately  baronified  to  enable  the 
world  to  forget  that  his  father  sold  fagots.  This 
notable  change  in  the  ideas  of  the  count  in  his  sixtieth 
year,  a  period  when  few  men  give  up  their  fixed  be- 
liefs, was  not  due  solely  to  a  residence  in  the  modern 
Babylon,  where  most  provincials  end  by  rubbing  off 
their  peculiarities  ;  the  new  political  conscience  of  the 
Comte  de  Fontaine  was  due  far  more  to  the  counsels 

18 


274  The  Rural  Ball. 

and  friendship  of  the  king.  That  philosophical 
prince  took  pleasure  in  converting  the  Vendéan  to  the 
ideas  which  the  march  of  the  nineteenth  century  and 
the  renovation  of  the  monarchy  demanded.  Louis 
XVIII.  desired  to  fuse  parties  as  Napoleon  had  fused 
men  and  things;  but  the  legitimate  king,  as  wise, 
perhaps,  as  his  rival,  went  to  work  in  an  opposite 
direction.  The  last  head  of  the  House  of  Bourbon 
was  anxious  to  satisfy  the  tiers  etat  and  the  followers 
of  the  Empire  as  the  first  of  the  Napoleons  was  eager 
to  draw  to  himself  the  great  lords  and  to  endow  the 
Church.  Being  the  confidant  of  the  king's  thoughts, 
the  councillor  of  State  became  insensibly  one  of  the 
most  influential  and  wisest  leaders  of  the  moderate 
party,  who  strongly  desired,  in  the  national  interests, 
a  fusion  of  opinions.  He  preached  the  costly  princi- 
ples of  constitutional  government,  and  seconded,  with 
all  his  strength,  the  game  of  political  see-saw  which 
enabled  his  master  to  govern  France  in  the  midst  of 
so  many  agitations.  Perhaps  Monsieur  de  Fontaine 
flattered  himself  that  he  should  reach  a  peerage  by  one 
of  those  legislative  gusts,  the  effects  of  which  take  the 
oldest  politicians  by  surprise.  One  of  the  firmest  of 
his  acquired  principles  consisted  in  no  longer  recog- 
nizing any  other  nobility  in  France  than  that  of  the 
peerage,  because  the  families  of  peers  alone  held  the 
privileges. 

"A  nobility  without  privileges,"  he  said,  "is  a 
handle  without  a  tool." 

Thus,  equally  far  from  the  party  of  Lafayette  as 
from  that  of  La  Bourdonnaye,  he  favored,  ardently, 
the  general  reconciliation  from  which  was  to  issue  an 


The  Rural  Ball.  275 

era  of  new  and  brilliant  destinies  for  France.  He 
tried  to  convince  the  families  who  frequented  his 
salons,  and  those  whom  he  visited,  of  the  few  favorable 
chances  now  to  be  found  in  a  military  or  governmental 
career.  He  advised  mothers  to  put  their  sons  into 
industrial  and  other  professions,  assuring  them  that 
military  employment  and  the  higher  functions  of 
government  must  end  in  belonging  constitutionally 
to  the  younger  sons  of  peers. 

The  new  ideas  of  the  Comte  de  Fontaine,  and  the 
marriages  which  resulted  of  his  two  elder  daughters, 
had  found  much  opposition  in  the  bosom  of  his  family. 
The  Comtesse  de  Fontaine  continued  faithful  to  the  old 
beliefs,  as  became  a  descendant  of  the  Rohans  through 
her  mother.  Though  she  opposed,  for  a  time,  the 
marriage  of  her  daughters,  she  yielded,  after  a  while, 
as  all  mothers  would  have  done  in  her  place;  but  she 
insisted  that  her  daughter  Emilie  should  be  married 
in  a  manner  to  satisfy  the  pride  which  she  had  herself 
developed  in  that  young  breast. 

Thus  the  events  which  might  have  brought  only  joy 
to  this  household  produced  a  slight  leaven  of  discord. 
One  of  the  sons  married  Mademoiselle  Mongenod,  the 
daughter  of  a  rich  banker;  another  chose  a  girl  whose 
father,  thrice  a  millionnaire,  had  made  his  money  by 
salt;  the  third  had  taken  to  wife  a  Mademoiselle 
Grossetête,  daughter  of  the  receiver-general  at  Bourges. 
The  three  sisters-in-law  and  the  two  brothers-in-law 
finding  it  for  their  interests  to  enter  the  salons  of  the 
faubourg  Saint-Germain,  agreed  among  themselves 
to  make  a  little  court  around  Emilie.  This  compact 
of  self-interests  and  pride  was  not,  however,  so  thor- 


276  The  Rural  Ball 

oughly  cemented  that  the  young  sovereign  did  not 
occasionally  excite  revolutions  in  her  kingdom. 
Scenes  which  good  taste  would  have  repudiated  took 
place  in  private  between  the  members  of  this  powerful 
family,  though  they  were  never  allowed  to  affect  the 
outward  show  of  affection  assumed  before  the  public. 

Such  were  the  general  circumstances  of  the  Fontaine 
household  and  its  little  domestic  strife,  when  the  king, 
into  whose  favor  the  count  was  expecting  to  return, 
was  seized  with  his  last  illness.  The  great  politician 
who  had  succeeded  so  well  in  piloting  his  wreck  amid 
the  storm  was  not  long  in  succumbing.  Uncertain  as 
to  the  future,  the  Comte  de  Fontaine  now  made  the 
greatest  efforts  to  collect  about  his  youngest  daughter 
the  élite  of  the  marriageable  young  men.  Those  who 
have  tried  to  solve  the  difficult  problem  of  marrying  a 
proud  and  fanciful  daughter  will  understand  the  wor- 
ries that  came  upon  the  poor  Vendéan.  If  this  event 
could  worthily  be  brought  about  in  a  manner  to  please 
his  precious  child,  the  count's  career  in  Paris  for  the 
last  ten  years  would  receive  its  final  crown.  His 
family,  indeed,  by  the  way  it  had  invaded  all  depart- 
ments of  government,  might  be  compared  to  the  house 
of  Austria,  which  threatens  to  overrun  all  Europe 
through  its  alliances.  The  old  count  therefore  per- 
severed against  his  daughter's  objections,  so  much 
did  he  have  her  happiness  at  heart;  though  nothing 
could  be  more  provoking  than  the  way  in  which  that 
impertinent  girl  pronounced  her  decisions  and  judged 
the  merits  of  her  adorers.  It  really  seemed  as  if 
Emilie  was  one  of  those  princesses  in  the  Arabian 
Nights  to   whom   all    the  princes  of   the   earth   were 


The  Rural  Ball.  271 

offered  ;  and  her  objections  were  equally  grotesque  and 
senseless;  this  one  was  knock-kneed,  that  one 
squinted,  a  third  was  named  Durand,  a  fourth  limped, 
and  all  were  too  fat.  Livelier,  more  charming,  and 
gayer  than  ever  when  she  had  just  rejected  two  or 
three  suitors,  Emilie  de  Fontaine  rushed  into  all  the 
winter  fêtes,  going  from  ball  to  ball,  examining  with 
her  penetrating  eyes  the  celebrities  of  the  day,  and 
exciting  proposals  which  she  always  rejected. 

Nature  had  given  her,  profusely,  the  advantages 
required  for  the  rôle  of  Célimène.  Tall  and  slender, 
she  was  able  to  assume  a  bearing  that  was  imposing 
or  volatile,  as  she  pleased.  Her  neck,  a  trifle  too  long, 
enabled  her  to  take  charming  attitudes  of  ^disdain  or 
sauciness.  She  had  made  herself  a  fruitful  repertory 
of  those  turns  of  the  head  and  feminine  gestures  which 
explained,  cruelly  or  the  reverse  as  the  case  might 
be,  her  smiles  and  words.  Beautiful  black  hair, 
thick  and  well-arched  eyebrows  gave  an  expression  of 
pride  to  her  face  which  coquetry  and  her  mirror  had 
taught  her  to  render  terrible  or  to  modify  by  the  fixity 
or  the  softness  of  her  glance,  by  the  slight  inflexion  or 
the  immobility  of  her  lips,  by  the  coldness  or  the 
grace  of  her  smile.  When  Emilie  wanted  to  lay  hold 
of  a  heart  she  could  make  her  voice  melodious;  but 
when  she  intended  to  paralyze  the  tongue  of  an  indis- 
creet worshipper  she  could  give  it  a  curt  clearness 
which  silenced  him.  Her  pure  white  face  and  alabas- 
ter forehead  were  like  the  limpid  surface  of  a  lake 
which  is  ruffled  by  the  slight  breeze,  and  returns  to 
its  joyous  serenity  as  the  air  grows  still.  More  than 
one  young  man,  the  victim  of  her  disdain,  had  accused 


278  The  Rural  Ball. 

her  of  playing  comedy.  In  revenge  for  such  speeches 
she  inspired  her  detractors  with  the  desire  to  please 
her,  and  then  subjected  them  pitilessly  to  all  the  arts 
of  her  coquetry.  Among  the  young  girls  of  fashion- 
able society  none  knew  better  than  she  how  to  assume 
a  haughty  air  to  men  of  talent,  or  display  that  insult- 
ing politeness  which  makes  inferiors  of  our  equals. 
Wherever  she  went  she  seemed  to  receive  homage 
rather  than  courtesies,  and  even  in  the  salon  of  a  prin- 
cess she  had  the  air  of  being  seated  on  a  throne. 

Monsieur  de  Fontaine  perceived,  too  late,  how  much 
the  education  of  his  favorite  daughter  had  been  per- 
verted by  the  mistaken  tenderness  of  her  family.  The 
admiration  which  the  world  gives  to  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  for  which  it  often  avenges  itself  later,  had 
still  further  exalted  Emilie' s  pride  and  increased  her 
self-confidence.  General  approval  had  developed  in 
her  the  selfishness  natural  to  spoiled  children,  who,  like 
kings,  amuse  themselves  on  all  who  approach  them. 
At  this  moment  the  graces  of  youth  and  the  charm  of 
native  talent  hid  these  defects  from  ordinary  eyes; 
but  nothing  escapes  the  eye  of  a  good  father,  and 
Monsieur  de  Fontaine  sometimes  attempted  to  explain 
to  his  daughter  the  true  meaning  of  the  enigmatical 
pages  of  the  book  of  life.  A  vain  attempt  !  He  was 
made  too  often  to  groan  over  the  capricious  intracta- 
bility and  sarcastic  cleverness  of  his  wayward  girl  to 
persevere  steadily  in  the  difficult  task  of  correcting  her 
warped  nature.  He  contented  himself,  finally,  with 
giving  her  kindly  and  gentle  counsel  from  time  to 
time;  but  he  had  the  pain  of  finding  that  his  tender- 
est  words  slid  from  her  heart  like  water  from  polished 


The  Rural  Ball.  279 

marble.  It  took  the  old  Vendéan  some  years  to  per- 
ceive the  condescending  manner  with  which  his  petted 
child  received  his  caresses. 

But  there  were  times  when  with  sudden  caprice, 
apparently  inexplicable  in  a  young  girl,  she  would  shut 
herself  up  and  go  nowhere;  at  such  times  she  com- 
plained that  social  life  separated  her  from  the  heart  of 
her  father  and  mother,  she  grew  jealous  of  every  one, 
even  her  brothers  and  sisters.  Then,  having  taken 
pains  to  create  a  desert  around  her,  the  strange  girl 
threw  the  blame  of  her  dissatisfied  solitude  aud  self- 
made  troubles  upon  life.  Armed  with  her  twenty 
years'  experience,  she  railed  at  fate;  not  perceiving 
that  the  principle  of  happiness  is  within  us,  she  cried 
aloud  to  the  things  of  life  to  give  it  to  her.  She  would 
have  gone  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  avoid  a  marriage 
like  those  of  her  sisters,  and  yet  in  her  heart  she  was 
horribly  jealous  on  seeing  them  rich  and  happy. 

Sometimes  her  mother  —  even  more  the  victim  of  her 
proceedings  than  her  father  —  was  led  to  think  there 
was  a  tinge  of  madness  in  her.  But  her  behavior  was 
otherwise  explicable.  Nothing  is  more  common  than 
self-asumption  in  the  heart  of  young  girls  placed  high 
on  the  social  ladder  and  gifted  with  great  beauty. 
They  are  often  persuaded  that  their  mother,  now  forty 
to  fifty  years  old,  can  no  longer  sympathize  with  their 
young  souls  or  conceive  their  wants.  They  imagine 
that  most  mothers,  jealous  of  their  daughters,  have  a 
premeditated  design  to  prevent  them  from  receiving 
attentions  or  eclipsing  their  own  claims.  Hence, 
secret  tears  and  muttered  rebellion  against  imaginary 
maternal  tyranny.     From  the  midst  of  these  fancied 


280  The  Rural  Ball. 

griefs,  which  they  make  real,  they  draw  for  themselves 
a  brilliant  horoscope;  their  magic  consists  in  taking 
dreams  for  realities  ;  they  resolve,  in  their  secret  medi- 
tations, to  give  their  heart  and  hand  to  no  man  who 
does  not  possess  such  or  such  qualifications,  and  they 
picture  to  their  imagination  a  type  to  which  their 
accepted  lover  must,  willingly  or  not,  conform.  After 
certain  experience  of  life  and  the  serious  reflections 
which  years  bring  to  them,  and  after  seeing  the  world 
and  its  prosaic  course,  the  glowing  colors  of  their  ideal 
visions  fade  ;  and  they  are  quite  astonished  some  fine 
day  to  wake  up  and  find  themselves  happy  without  the 
nuptial  poesy  of  their  dreams.  At  present  Mademoi- 
selle Emilie  de  Fontaine  had  resolved,  in  her  flimsy 
wisdom,  on  a  programme  to  which  a  suitor  must  con- 
form in  order  to  be  accepted.  Hence  her  disdainful 
comments. 

"Though  young,  and  belonging  to  the  old  nobility," 
she  said  to  herself,  "he  must  also  be  a  peer  of  France, 
or  the  son  of  a  peer.  I  could  never  bear  to  see  our 
arms  on  the  panels  of  my  carriage  without  the  azure 
mantle,  or  be  unable  to  drive  among  the  princes 
at  Longchamps.  Papa  himself  says  the  peerage  is 
going  to  be  the  highest  dignity  in  France.  He  must 
also  be  a  soldier,  but  resign,  if  I  wish  him  to  ;  and  I 
want  him  decorated,  so  that  sentries  may  salute  us." 

But  the  above  qualifications  would  amount  to  very 
little,  she  thought,  if  this  being  did  not  also  possess 
great  amiability,  an  elegant  manner,  intellect,  and  a 
slender  form.  Slenderness,  grace  of  body,  fugitive 
though  it  might  be,  especially  under  a  representative 
government,    was   absolutely   indispensable.      Made- 


The  Rural  Ball.  281 

moiselle  de  Fontaine  had  a  certain  vision  in  her  mind's 
eye  which  served  her  as  model.  The  young  man  who 
at  her  first  glance  did  not  meet  the  required  conditions 
never  obtained  a  second. 

"Oh,  heavens!  how  fat  he  is!"  was  with  her  the 
expression  of  an  abiding  contempt. 

To  hear  her,  one  would  think  that  persons  of  honest 
corpulence  were  incapable  of  feelings,  dangerous  hus- 
bands, beings  unworthy  of  existing  in  civilized  soci- 
ety. Though  considered  a  beauty  at  the  East,  plump- 
ness was  to  her  eyes  a  misfortune  in  women  and  a 
crime  in  men.  These  fantastic  opinions  amused  her 
hearers,  thanks  to  a  certain  liveliness  of  elocution. 
Nevertheless,  the  count  felt  that  his  daughter's  preten- 
sions would,  sooner  or  later,  become  a  subject  of  ridi- 
cule, especially  to  clear-sighted  women  of  little  charity. 
He  also  feared  that  as  she  grew  older  her  fantastic 
ideas  might  change  to  ill-breeding;  and  he  saw  plainly 
that  more  than  one  actor  in  her  comedy,  displeased  at 
her  refusal,  was  only  waiting  for  some  unlucky  inci- 
dent to  avenge  himself.  Consequently,  during  the 
first  winter  after  the  accession  of  Charles  X.,  he 
redoubled  his  efforts,  seconded  by  his  sons  and  his 
sons-in-law,  to  fill  his  salons  with  the  best  marriage- 
able men  in  Paris,  trusting  that  at  last  this  assemblage 
of  suitors  would  put  an  end  to  his  daughter's  fancies, 
and  force  her  to  decide.  He  felt  an  inward  satisfac- 
tion in  having  done  his  duty  as  a  father  ;  but  no  result 
appearing,  he  resolved  to  have  a  firm  explanation 
with  her,  and  toward  the  end  of  Lent  she  was  sum- 
moned to  his  study. 

She  came  in  singing  an  air  from  the  "Barbiere." 


282  The  Rural  Ball 

"Good-morning,  papa.  What  do  you  want  me  for 
so  early  ?  " 

The  words  were  chanted  as  if  they  were  the  last 
line  of  the  air  she  was  singing  ;  then  she  kissed  the 
count,  not  with  that  familiar  tenderness  which  makes 
the  filial  sentiment  so  sweet  a  thing,  but  carelessly, 
like  a  mistress,  sure  of  pleasing,  whatever  she  may  do. 

4 'My  dear  child,"  said  Monsieur  de  Fontaine, 
gravely,  "I  have  sent  for  you  to  talk  very  seriously 
about  your  future.  It  has  now  become  a  necessity  for 
/ou  to  choose  a  husband  who  will  make  your  happiness 
lasting  —  " 

"My  dear  papa,"  replied  Emilie,  in  her  most  caress- 
ing tones,  "the  armistice  that  you  and  I  agreed  upon 
as  to  my  lovers  has  not  yet  expired." 

"Emilie,  you  must  cease  to  jest  on  a  subject  so 
important.  For  some  time  past  all  the  efforts  of  those 
who  love  you  truly,  my  child,  have  been  directed  to 
finding  you  a  suitable  establishment,  and  you  would 
be  guilty  of  the  greatest  ingratitude  if  you  made  light 
of  the  interest  which  I  am  not  the  only  one  to  spend 
upon  you." 

Hearing  these  words,  the  young  girl  selected  an 
arm-chair  and  carried  it  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire- 
place, directly  opposite  to  her  father,  sat  down  in  it 
with  too  solemn  an  air  not  to  be  sarcastic,  and  crossed 
her  arms  over  a  pelerine  of  innumerable  snowy  ruches. 
Glancing  covertly  at  her  father's  anxious  face,  she 
said,  saucily  :  — 

"I  never  heard  you  say,  papa,  that  the  heads  of 
departments  made  their  communications  in  their 
dressing-gowns.     But,   no  matter,"  she    added,   smil- 


The  Rural  Ball.  283 

ing,  "the  populace  are  not  punctilious.  Now,  then, 
bring  in  your  bill,  and  make  your  official  representa- 
tions." 

"I  shall  not  always  be  able  to  make  them,  my  silly 
child.  Now  listen  to  me,  Emilie.  I  do  not  intend 
much  longer  to  compromise  my  character  for  dignity, 
which  is  the  inheritance  of  my  children,  by  recruiting 
this  regiment  of  suitors  whom  you  send  to  the  right- 
about every  spring.  Already  you  have  been  the  cause 
of  dangerous  dissensions  with  certain  families.  I 
hope  that  you  will  now  understand  more  plainly  the 
difficulties  of  your  position  and  mine.  You  are 
twenty-two  years  old,  my  dear,  and  you  ought  to  have 
been  married  at  least  three  years  ago.  Your  brothers 
and  sisters  are  well  and  happily  established.  I  must 
tell  you  now  that  the  expenses  accruing  from  those 
marriages,  and  the  style  in  which  your  mother  keep3 
up  this  household,  have  absorbed  so  much  of  our 
property  that  I  cannot  afford  to  give  you  a  dowry  of 
more  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  It  is  my  duty 
to  make  ample  provision  for  your  mother,  whose  future 
must  not  be  sacrificed  to  that  of  her  children;  I 
should  ill  reward  her  devotion  to  me  in  the  days  of 
my  poverty  if  I  did  not  leave  her  enough  to  continue 
the  comfort  she  now  enjoys.  I  wish  you  to  see,  my 
child,  that  your  dowry  will  not  be  in  keeping  with  the 
ideas  of  grandeur  you  now  indulge —  Now,  don't  be 
sulky,  my  dear,  but  let  us  talk  reasonably.  Among 
the  various  young  men  who  are  looking  for  wives,  have 
you  noticed  Monsieur  Paul  de  Manerville  ?  " 

"Oh!  he  lisps;  and  he  is  always  looking  at  his  foot 
because  he  thinks  it  small.  Besides,  he  is  blonde,  and 
I  don't  like  fair  men." 


284  The  Rural  Ball 

"Well,  Monsieur  de  Beaudenord ? " 

"He  is  not  noble.  He  is  awkward  and  fat;  more- 
over, he  is  so  dark.  It  is  a  pity  that  pair  could  n't 
exchange  points;  the  first  could  give  his  figure  and 
his  name  to  the  second,  who  might  return  the  gift  in 
hair,  and  then  —  perhaps  —  " 

"What  have  you  to  say  against  Monsieur  de  Ras- 
tignac?"  N 

"Madame  de  Nucingen  has  made  a  banker  of  him," 
she  said,  maliciously. 

"And  our  relation,  the  Vicomte  de  Portenduère ?  " 

"That  boy!  who  doesn't  know  how  to  dance;  be- 
sides, he  has  no  fortune.  Moreover,  papa,  none  of 
those  men  have  titles.  I  wish  to  be  at  least  a  coun- 
tess, like  my  mother." 

"Have  you  seen  no  one  this  winter  who  —  " 

"No  one,  papa." 

"Then  what  do  you  want?  " 

"The  son  of  a  peer  of  France." 

"You  are.  crazy,  my  child!  "  said  Monsieur  de  Fon- 
taine, rising. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up  as  if  to  ask  of  heaven  another 
dose  of  resignation;  then,  with  a  look  of  fatherly  pity 
on  the  girl,  who  was  somewhat  touched,  he  took  her 
hand,  pressed  it  between  his  own,  and  said,  ten- 
derly :  — 

"God  is  my  witness,  poor,  misguided  girl!  that  I 
have  conscientiously  done  my  duty  by  you —  Con- 
scientiously, do  I  say  ?  I  mean  lovingly,  my  Emilie. 
Yes,  God  knows  that  I  have  offered  you,  this  winter, 
more  than  one  honorable  man  whose  character  and 
morals   were   known   to   me  as  being  worthy  of   my 


The  Rural  Ball.  285 

child.  My  task  is  done.  Emilie,  from  this  day 
forth  I  leave  you  mistress  of  your  own  fate  ;  and  I  feel 
both  fortunate  and  unfortunate  in  finding  myself 
relieved  of  the  heaviest  of  all  the  paternal  obligations. 
I  do  not  know  how  long  you  may  hear  a  voice  which 
has,  alas  !  never  been  stern  to  you  ;  but  it  will  never 
again  say  more  to  you  than  this  :  Remember  that  con- 
jugal happiness  does  not  depend  as  much  on  brilliant 
qualities  or  on  wealth,  as  on  reciprocal  esteem  and 
affection.  Married  happiness  is,  of  its  nature, 
modest  and  not  dazzling.  My  daughter,  I  will  accept 
whoever  you  may  present  to  me  as  my  son-in-law,  but 
if  you  make  an  unhappy  marriage,  remember  that  you 
have  no  right  to  blame  your  father.  I  wilbnot  refuse 
to  promote  your  wishes  and  help  you  ;  but  your  choice 
must  be  serious  and  definite.  I  will  not  compromise 
the  respect  due  to  my  character  any  longer  by  promot- 
ing your  present  course." 

Her  father's  affection  and  his  solemn  accents  did 
really  affect  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  sincerely;  but 
she  concealed  her  feelings,  and  sprang  gayly  on  his 
knee,  — for  the  count  was  again  seated,  and  trembling 
with  agitation.  She  caressed  and  coaxed  him  so 
prettily  that  the  old  man's  brow  began  to  clear,  and 
when  she  thought  him  sufficiently  recovered  from  his 
painful  emotion  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  :  — 

"I  thank  you  for  your  great  kindness,  dear  papa. 
Is  it  so  very  difficult  to  marry  a  peer  of  France  ?  I 
have  heard  you  say  they  were  made  in  batches.  Ah! 
you  surely  won't  refuse  me  your  advice?  " 

"No,  my  poor  child,  no;  indeed,  I  will  often  say  to 
you,  '  Beware!  '     Remember  that  the  peerage  is  too 


286  The  Rural  Ball. 

new  a  thing  in  our  '  governmentability,'  as  the  late 
king  used  to  say,  for  peers  to  possess  large  fortunes. 
Those  who  are  rich  want  to  become  richer,  and  they 
are  looking  for  heiresses  for  their  sons  wherever  they 
can  find  them.  It  will  be  two  hundred  years  before 
the  necessity  they  are  under  to  make  rich  marriages 
dies  out.  I  don't  need,  I  think,  to  warn  a  girl  like 
you  of  the  difficulties  in  your  way.  One  thing  I  am 
sure  of;  you  will  never  be  misled  by  a  handsome  face 
or  flattering  manners  to  rashly  attribute  either  sense 
or  virtue  to  a  stranger;  you  have  your  heart,  like  a 
good  horseman,  too  well  in  hand  for  that.  My 
daughter,  I  can  only  wish  you  good  luck." 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,  papa.  Well,  listen.  I 
declare  to  you  that  I  will  go  and  die  in  Mademoiselle 
de  Condé's  convent  sooner  than  not  be  the  wife  of  a 
peer  of  France." 

She  sprang  from  her  father's  arms  and  ran  off,  proud 
of  being  her  own  mistress,  and  singing,  as  she  went, 
the  Cava  non  dubitare  in  the  "Matrimonio  Segreto." 

At  dessert  that  day,  Madame  Planât,  Emilie' s 
elder  sister,  began  to  speak  of  a  young  American,  the 
possessor  of  a  great  fortune,  who  was  passionately  in 
love  with  the  girl,  and  had  lately  made  her  very  bril- 
liant proposals. 

"He  is  a  banker,  I  think,"  said  Emilie,  carelessly. 
"I  don't  like  financial  people." 

"But,  Emilie,"  said  the  Baron  de  Vilaine,  the  hus- 
band of  her  second  sister,  "you  don't  like  the  magis- 
tracy any  better;  so  that  really  if  you  reject  all  men 
of  property  without  titles,  I  don't  see  into  what  class 
you  can  go  for  a  husband." 


The  Rural  Ball.  287 

"Especially,  Emilie,  with  your  sentiments  on  fat 
men,"  added  her  brother,  the  lieutenant-general. 

"I  know  very  well  what  I  want,"  replied  the  girl. 

"My  sister  wants  a  noble  name,  a  fine  young  man, 
a  glorious  future,  and  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
a  year,  — Monsieur  de  Marsay,  for  instance,"  said  the 
Baronne  de  Fontaine. 

"I  know  this,  my  dear  sister,"  returned  Emilie. 
"I  shall  not  make  a  foolish  marriage,  as  I  have  seen 
so  many  people  do.  Now,  to  avoid,  in  future,  these 
nuptial  discussions,  I  here  declare  that  I  shall  regard 
as  a  personal  euemy  any  one  who  says  another  word 
to  me  about  marriage." 

A  great-uncle  of  Emilie,  a  vice-admiral  whose  for- 
tune had  just  been  increased  by  twenty  thousand  francs 
a  year  through  the  law  of  indemnity,  an  old  man  of 
seventy,  assumed  the  right  of  saying  harsh  truths 
when  he  pleased  to  his  grand-niece,  whom  he  idolized. 
He  now  remarked,  as  if  to  put  a  stop  to  the  sharpness 
of  the  conversation  :  — 

"Don't  tease  my  poor  Emilie  ;  can't  you  see  that  she 
is  waiting  for  the  majority  of  the  Duc  de  Bordeaux?  " 

A  general  laugh  replied  to  the  old  man's  jest. 

"Take  care  I  don't  marry  you,  you  old  goose,"  re- 
torted the  girl,  whose  last  word  was  fortunately  lost 
in  the  hubbub. 

"My  children,"  said  Madame  de  Fontaine,  endeav- 
oring to  soften  this  impertinence,  "Emilie,  like  the 
rest  of  you,  will  take  her  mother's  advice.  " 

"Oh,  heavens!  no;  I  shall  take  no  one's  advice  but 
my  own  in  a  matter  which  concerns  me  alone,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  very  distinctly. 


288  The  Rural  Ball. 

All  eyes  turned  to  the  head  of  the  family  on  hearing 
this  speech.  Every  one  seemed  curious  to  see  how 
the  count  would  take  such  an  attack  on  his  dignity. 
Not  only  did  the  worthy  Vendéan  enjoy  the  considera- 
tion of  the  world  at  large,  but,  more  fortunate  than 
many  fathers,  he  was  greatly  esteemed  by  his  own 
family,  all  the  members  of  which  recognized  the  solid 
qualities  which  had  enabled  him  to  make  the  fortune 
of  those  belonging  to  him.  He  was  therefore  sur- 
rounded by  that  respect  and  even  reverence  which 
English  families  and  some  aristocratic  families  on  the 
continent  show  to  the  head  of  their  genealogical  tree. 
Silence  fell;  the  eyes  of  every  one  turned  from  the 
haughty  and  sullen  face  of  the  spoiled  child  to  the 
stern  faces  of  her  father  and  mother. 

"I  have  left  Emilie  mistress  of  her  own  fate,"  was 
the  reply  of  the  count,  made  in  a  deep  voice. 

All  present  looked  at  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine 
with  a  curiosity  that  was  mingled  witlu  pity.  The 
words  seemed  to  say  that  paternal  kindness  was  weary 
of  endeavoring  to  control  a  character  which  the  family 
knew  to  be  uncontrollable.  The  sons-in-law  mur- 
mured disapprovingly;  the  brothers  looked  at  their 
wives  sarcastically.  From  that  moment,  none  of  them 
took  any  further  interest  in  the  marriage  of  the  in- 
tractable girl.  Her  old  uncle  was  the  only  person 
who,  in  his  naval  parlance,  dared  to  board  her,  and 
he  did,  occasionally,  receive  her  fire  and  return  her 
broadside  for  broadside. 


The  Rural  Ball.  289 


ÏL 


THE   BALL. 

When  the  summer  season  came  (after  the  vote  on 
the  budget)  this  family,  a  true  likeness  of  the  parlia- 
mentary families  on  the  other  side  of  the  British  Chan- 
nel, which  have  a  foothold  in  all  ministries  and  ten 
votes  in  the  Commons,  flew  off  like  a  covey  of  birds 
to  the  beautiful  regions  of  Aulnay,  Antony,  and 
Châtenay.  The  opulent  receiver-general,  the  husband 
of  the  eldest  sister,  had  lately  bought  a  country-seat 
in  that  vicinity,  and  though  Emilie  despised  all  ple- 
beians, that  sentiment  did  not  lead  her  so  far  as  to  dis- 
dain the  advantages  of  bourgeois  wealth.  She  there- 
fore accompanied  her  sister  to  her  sumptuous  villa, 
less  from  affection  for  the  members  of  her  family,  who 
went  with  them,  than  from  the  rigid  rule  of  good  society, 
which  imperiously  requires  all  women  who  respect 
themselves  to  leave  Paris  during  the  summer  season. 
The  verdant  meadows  of  Sceaux  fulfilled  these  exac- 
tions of  good  taste  and  public  duty  suitably,  and 
Emilie  agreed  to  go  there. 

As  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  reputation  of  the  rural 
ball  of  Sceaux  has  ever  reached  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  department  of  the  Seine,  it  is  necessary  to  give 
a  few  details  on  this  hebdomadal  fête,  which  threat- 
ened at  that  time  to  become  an  institution.     The  envi- 

19 


290  The  Rural  Ball. 

rons  of  the  little  town  of  Sceaux  enjoys  the  reputation 
of  delightful  scenery.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  really 
commonplace,  and  owes  its  celebrity  to  the  stupid 
ignorance  of  the  Parisian  bourgeoisie,  who,  issuing 
from  the  close  and  narrow  streets  in  which  they  are 
buried,  incline  naturally  to  admire  the  plains  of  Beauce. 
Nevertheless,  as  the  poetic  woo^s  of  Aulnay,  the  hill- 
sides of  Antony,  and  the  valley  of  the  Bièvre  are  in- 
habited by  artists  who  have  travelled,  by  foreigners, 
by  persons  difficult  to  please,  and  by  a  number  of 
pretty  women  who  are  not  without  taste,  we  may  sup- 
pose that  the  transient  Parisian  visitors  were  right. 

But  Sceaux  possesses  another  charm  in  addition  to 
its  scenery,  not  less  attractive  to  Parisians.  In  the 
middle  of  a  garden  where  many  delightful  points  of 
view  are  obtained,  stands  an  immense  rotunda,  open 
on  all  sides,  the  light  and  airy  dome  of  which  is  sup- 
ported by  elegant  pillars.  This  rural  dais  shelters  a 
ballroom.  It  seldom  happens  that  even  the  most  con- 
ventional and  proper  of  the  neighboring  proprietors 
and  their  families  do  not  converge  at  least  once  or 
twice  during  the  season  toward  this  palace  of  the  vil- 
lage Terpsichore,  either  in  brilliant  cavalcades,  or  in 
light  and  elegant  carriages  which  cover  with  dust 
philosophical  pedestrians.  The  hope  of  meeting  there 
some  women  of  the  great  world  and  being  seen  by 
them,  the  hope  (less  often  betrayed)  of  meeting  young 
peasant  women  as  demure  as  judges,  brings,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  to  the  ball  of  Sceaux,  swarms  of  law- 
yers' clerks,  disciples  of  Esculapius,  and  other  youths 
whose  fresh  complexions  are  discoloring  behind  the 
counters  of  Paris.     Quite  a  number  of  bourgeois  mar- 


The  Rural  Ball.  291 

riages  are  yearly  planned  to  the  sounds  of  the  orches- 
tra, which  occupies  the  centre  of  the  circular  hall.  If 
that  could  speak,  what  tales  of  love  it  might  tell  ! 

This  interesting  medley  of  classes  made  the  ball  of 
Sceaux,  in  those  days,  more  spicy  and  amusing  than 
other  rural  balls  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris,  over 
which  its  rotunda,  the  beauty  of  its  site,  and  the 
charms  of  its  garden,  gave  it  additional  advantages. 
Emilie  at  once  proclaimed  her  desire  to  "play  popu- 
lace "  at  this  lively  rural  scene,  and  declared  she 
should  take  an  enormous  amount  of  pleasure  in  it. 
Her  family  were  astonished  at  this  fancy  for  mixing  in 
such  a  mob  ;  but  to  play  at  incognito  has  always  had 
a  singular  charm  for  persons  of  rank.  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine  expected  to  derive  much  amusement  from 
citizen  manners  ;  she  saw  herself  leaving  in  more  than 
one  bourgeois  soul  the  memory  of  a  look  or  a  fasci- 
nating smile;  she  laughed  to  think  of  the  awkward 
dancing,  and  she  sharpened  her  pencils  in  preparation 
for  the  scenes  with  which  she  expected  to  enrich  her 
satirical  album. 

Sunday  arrived  to  put  an  end  to  her  impatience. 
The  party  from  Planât  made  their  way  on  foot  to  avoid 
giving  annoyance  to  the  rest  of  the  company.  The 
family  had  dined  early.  The  month  of  May  was  a 
delightful  season  for  such  an  escapade.  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine's  first  sensation  was  one  of  surprise  at 
finding  under  the  rotunda  a  number  of  persons  dancing 
quadrilles  who  appeared  to  belong  to  the  best  society. 
She  saw,  indeed,  here  and  there,  a  few  young  men 
who  had  evidently  put  their  month's  savings  into  the 
joy  of  shining  for  this  one  day;  but,  on  the  whole, 


292  The  Rural  Ball 

there  was  little  of  satire  to  glean  and  none  to  harvest. 
She  was  amazed  to  find  pleasure  arrayed  in  cambric  so 
much  like  pleasure  robed  in  satin,  and  the  citizen 
female  dancing  with  as  much  grace  as  the  noble  lady, 
sometimes  with  more.  Most  of  the  toilets  were 
simple  and  becoming.  Those  of  the  assembly  who 
represented  the  lords  of  the  soil,  namely,  the  peasants, 
kept  in  the  background  with  remarkable  politeness. 
Mademoiselle  Emilie  would  have  been  forced  to  make 
a  study  of  the  various  elements  composing  the  scene 
before  discovering  the  slightest  subject  of  ridicule. 

But,  as  it  happened,  she  had  no  time  for  malicious 
criticism,  no  leisure  to  listen  for  those  absurd  speeches 
which  satirical  minds  delight  to  fasten  on.  The 
proud  girl  suddenly  met  in  the  midst  of  this  vast  field 
a  flower,  —  the  comparison  is  in  order,  —  a  flower,  the 
color  and  brilliancy  of  which  acted  on  her  imagination 
with  the  prestige  of  novelty.  It  sometimes  happens 
that  we  look  at  a  gown,  a  curtain,  or  a  bit  of  white 
paper  so  abstractedly  that  we  do  not  at  first  see  some 
stain,  or  some  vivid  beauty  which  later  strikes  our 
eye  as  if  it  had  just  come  to  the  place  where  we  see 
it.  By  a  species  of  moral  phenomenon  of  the  same 
kind,  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  now  beheld  in  a  youug 
man  the  type  of  those  external  perfections  she  had 
dreamed  of  for  years. 

Seated  on  one  of  the  common  chairs  which  sur- 
rounded the  dancing  circle,  she  had  carefully  placed 
herself  at  the  extremity  of  the  group  formed  by  her 
family  party,  so  as  to  be  able  to  rise  and  move  about 
as  she  fancied.  She  sat  there,  turning  her  opera-glass 
impertinently   on   all   around   her,  even  those  in  her 


The  Rural  Ball  293 

immediate  vicinity;  and  she  was  making  remarks  as 
she  might  have  done  in  a  gallery  over  portraits  or 
genre  pictures,  when  suddenly  her  eyes  were  caught  by 
a  face  which  seemed  to  have  been  placed  there,  ex- 
pressly, in  the  strongest  light,  to  exhibit  a  personage 
out  of  all  proportion  with  the  rest  of  the  scene. 

The  stranger,  dreamy,  and  apparently  solitary, 
leaned  lightly  against  one  of  the  columns  that  sup- 
ported the  roof,  with  his  arms  folded,  slightly  bending 
forward  as  though  a  painter  were  taking  his  portrait. 
His  attitude,  though  proud  and  full  of  grace,  was 
entirely  free  from  affectation.  No  gesture  showed 
that  he  held  his  face  at  three-quarters,  inclining 
slightly  to  the  right,  like  Alexander  and  like  Byron 
and  several  other  great  men,  for  the  purpose  of  attract- 
ing attention.  His  eyes  followed  the  motions  of  a 
lady  who  was  dancing,  and  their  expression  betrayed 
some  powerful  sentiment.  His  slim  and  agile  figure 
recalled  the  proportions  of  the  Apollo.  Fine  black 
hair  curled  naturally  on  his  high  forehead.  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine,  at  her  first  glance,  noticed  the 
fineness  of  his  linen,  the  freshness  of  his  kid  gloves, 
evidently  from  the  best  maker,  and  the  small ness  of 
a  foot  well-shod  in  a  boot  of  Irish  leather.  He  wore 
none  of  those  worthless  trinkets  which  a  counter- 
Lovelace  or  the  fops  of  the  National  Guard  affect.  A 
black  ribbon,  to  which  his  eyeglass  was  attached, 
alone  floated  over  a  waistcoat  of  elegant  shape. 
Never  had  the  exacting  Emilie  seen  the  eyes  of  man 
shaded  by  lashes  so  long  and  so  curving.  Melancholy 
and  passion  were  both  in  that  face,  the  tone  of  which 
was  olive,  and  the  features  manly.     His  mouth  seemed 


294  The  Rural  Ball 

ready  to  smile  and  to  raise  the  corners  of  its  eloquent 
lips;  but  this  expression,  far  from  denoting  gayety, 
revealed,  on  the  contrary,  a  certain  graceful  sadness. 
There  was  too  much  future  promise  in  that  head,  too 
much  distinction  in  the  whole  person  not  to  make  an 
observer  desire  to  know  him  ;  \  the  most  perceptive 
observer  would  have  seen  that  here  was  a  man  of 
talent,  brought  to  this  village  ball  by  some  powerful 
interest. 

This  mass  of  observations  cost  Emilie' s  quick  mind 
but  a  moment's  attention,  during  which  moment,  how- 
ever, this  privileged  man,  subjected  to  severe  analysis, 
became  the  object  of  her  secret  admiration.  She  said 
to  herself,  "He  is  a  noble,  — he  must  be."  Then  she 
rose  suddenly  and  went,  followed  by  her  brother,  the 
lieutenant-general,  toward  the  column  on  which  the 
stranger  leaned,  pretending  to  watch  the  quadrille,  but 
not  losing,  thanks  to  an  optical  manœuvre  familiar  to 
woman,  a  single  one  of  the  young  man's  movements 
as  she  approached  him.  The  stranger  politely  yielded 
his  place  to  the  new-comers  and  went  to  another  col- 
umn, against  which  he  leaned.  Emilie,  more  piqued 
at  this  civility  than  she  would  have  been  by  an  imper- 
tinence, began  to  talk  to  her  brother  in  a  raised  tone 
of  voice,  louder  than  good  taste  admitted.  She  nodded 
and  shook  her  head,  multiplied  her  gestures,  and 
laughed  without  much  reason,  far  less  to  amuse  her 
brother  than  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  imperturb- 
able stranger.  None  of  these  little  artifices  succeeded  ; 
and  then  it  occurred  to  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  to 
follow  the  direction  of  the  young  man's  glances.  On 
doing  so,  she  saw  at  once  the  cause  of  his  absorption. 


The  Rural  Ball  295 

In  the  middle  of  the  quadrille  directly  before  her,  a 
pale  young  girl  was  dancing,  who  was  like  those 
Scottish  deities  whom  Girodet  has  painted  in  his  vast 
composition  of  French  warriors  received  by  Ossian. 
Emilie  thought  at  first  she  must  either  be  or  belong 
to  a  distinguished  lady  who  had  lately  come  to  occupy 
a  neighboring  country-house.  Her  partner  was  a 
young  man  of  fifteen,  with  red  hands,  nankeen  trou- 
sers, blue  coat,  and  white  shoes,  which  proved  that  her 
love  for  dancing  made  her  not  difficult  to  please  in  the 
matter  of  partners.  Her  movements  did  not  show  the 
languor  of  her  apparent  feebleness  ;  but  a  faint  flush 
colored  her  delicate  cheeks  and  was  beginning  to 
spread  over  her  face.  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  went 
nearer  to  the  quadrille  in  order  to  examine  the  young 
stranger  when  she  returned  to  her  place,  while  the 
vis-à-vis  repeated  the  figure  she  had  just  executed. 
But  at  this  moment  the  young  man  advanced,  stooped 
to  the  pretty  dancer,  and  said,  in  a  masterful,  yet 
gentle  tone  of  voice,  these  words,  which  Emilie  dis- 
tinctly overheard  :  — 

"Clara,  my  child,  do  not  dance  any  more." 
Clara  gave  a  little  pout,  nodded  her  head  in  sign  of 
acquiescence,  and  ended  by  smiling.  After  the  dance 
was  over  the  young  man  took  all  the  precautions  of  a 
lover  in  wrapping  a  cashmere  shawl  around  the  girl's 
shoulders,  and  making  her  sit  away  from  the  draught. 
Presently  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  saw  them  rise 
and  walk  round  the  enclosure  like  persons  intending 
to  take  their  departure,  and  she  followed  them  hastily, 
under  pretence  of  admiring  the  views  from  the  garden. 
Her  brother  lent  himself  with  malicious  good- humor 


296  The  Rural  Ball 

to  the  various  caprices  of  this  vagabond  ramble. 
Emilie  soon  perceived  her  elegant  couple  getting  into 
a  tilbury  held  by  a  groom  on  horseback,  and  at  the 
moment  when  the  young  man  gathered  up  the  reins 
she  obtained  from  him  one  of  those  glances  that  are 
aimlessly  cast  upon  a  crowd  ;  next,  she  had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  him  turn  twice  to  look  at  her  again. 
The  lady  did  likewise.     Was  she  jealous? 

"I  presume  that  now,  having  examined  the  garden 
thoroughly,"  said  her  brother,  "we  may  return  to  the 
dance." 

"lam  willing,"  she  answered.  "Do  you  think  that 
young  girl  can  be  a  sister  of  Lady  Dudley  ?  " 

"Lady  Dudley  may  have  a  sister  staying  with  her," 
replied  the  Baron  de  Fontaine,  "but  she  can't  be  a 
young  girl." 

The  next  day  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  was  pos- 
sessed with  a  strong  desire  to  ride  on  horseback. 
Little  by  little  she  brought  her  old  uncle  and  her 
brothers  to  accompany  her  daily  in  certain  early  morn- 
ing rides,  very  beneficial,  she  declared,  for  her  health. 
She  particularly  delighted  in  the  country  about  Lady 
Dudley's  house.  But  in  spite  of  her  cavalry  manœu- 
vres she  did  not  find  the  stranger  as  promptly  as  her 
joyous  hopes  predicted.  Several  times  she  returned 
to  the  rural  ball,  but  in  vain.  The  stranger  who  had 
fallen  from  heaven  to  rule  her  dreams  and  adorn  them 
appeared  not  again.  Nothing  spurs  the  dawning  love 
of  a  young  girl  like  an  obstacle;  but  there  was,  never- 
theless, a  moment  when  Mademoiselle  Emilie  de  Fon- 
taine was  on  the  point  of  abandoning  her  strange  and 
secret  quest,  despairing  of  the  success  of  an  enterprise 


The  Rural  Ball  297 

the  singularity  of  which  may  give  some  idea  of  her 
daring  character.  She  might,  indeed,  have  ridden 
about  the  neighborhood  indefinitely  without  meeting 
her  unknown  hero.  Clara  —  since  Clara  was  the  name 
that  Emilie  had  overheard  —  was  not  English;  she  did 
not  belong  to  Lady  Dudley's  household,  and  the  gen- 
tleman who  accompanied  her  did  not  reside  near  the 
balmy  groves  of  Châtenay. 

One  evening,  as  Emilie  was  riding  alone  with  her 
uncle,  who  enjoyed  a  cessation  of  hostilities  from  his 
gout  during  the  summer,  she  met  the  carriage  of  Lady 
Dudley.  That  illustrious  foreigner  was  accompanied 
by  Monsieur  Félix  de  Vandenesse.  Emilie  recog- 
nized the  handsome  couple,  and  her  past  suppositions 
were  dissolved  like  a  dream.  Provoked,  like  any 
other  woman  frustrated  in  her  scheme,  she  turned  her 
horse  and  rode  so  rapidly  homeward  that  her  uncle  had 
all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to  keep  up  with  her. 

"Apparently  I  'm  too  old  to  understand  these  young 
things,"  thought  the  old  sailor  as  he  urged  his  horse  to 
a  gallop.  "Or  perhaps  the  youth  of  these  days  is  n't 
the  same  as  it  was  in  mine —  But  what's  my  niece 
about  now?  Look  at  her,  making  her  horse  take  short 
steps,  like  a  gendarme  patrolling  Paris.  Would  n't 
one  think  she  was  trying  to  hem  in  that  worthy  fellow, 
who  looks  like  an  author  composing  poetry?  Yes,  to 
to  be  sure,  he  has  an  album  in  his  hand!  Faith! 
what  a  fool  I  am!  no  doubt  that's  the  young  man 
we  've  been  chasing  all  along." 

At  this  thought  the  old  sailor  checked  the  speed  of 
his  horse  so  as  to  reach  his  niece  as  noiselessly  as  he 
could.     In  spite  of  the  veil  which  years   had  drawn 


298  The  Rural  Ball, 

before  his  gray  eyes  the  Comte  de  Kergarouët  saw 
enough  to  note  the  signs  of  some  unusual  agitation  in 
the  girl,  in  spite  of  the  indifference  she  endeavored  to 
assume.  Her  piercing  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  sort  of 
stupor  on  the  stranger,  who  >was  tranquilly  walking  in 
front  of  her. 

"That's  surely  it!"  thought  the  old  gentleman. 
"She  is  making  a  stern  chase  of  him,  like  a  pirate 
after  a  merchantman.  When  she  loses  sight  of  him 
she  '11  be  in  a  fine  state  at  not  knowing  who  he  is, 
whether  a  marquis  or  a  bourgeois.  Ah!  those  young 
heads,  those  young  heads  !  they  ought  always  to  have 
an  old  wig  like  me  at  their  elbow  —  " 

Suddenly  he  set  spurs  to  his  horse  to  startle  that  of 
his  niece,  and  passed  so  rapidly  between  Emilie  and 
the  stranger  that  he  forced  the  latter  to  jump  back 
upon  the  grass  that  bordered  the  road.  Stopping  his 
horse,  the  count  cried  out  :  — 

"Couldn't  you  get  out  of  the  way?" 

"Ah,  pardon  me,"  replied  the  stranger.  "I  was 
not  aware  it  was  my  place  to  make  excuses  for  your 
nearly  knocking  me  down." 

"Enough  of  that,  friend!"  returned  the  old  sailor, 
gruffly,  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  was  meant  to  be 
insulting. 

At  the  same  time  the  count  raised  his  whip  as  if  to 
strike  his  horse,  but  he  let  the  end  of  it  touch  the 
shoulder  of  the  young  man  as  he  said  :  — 

"The  liberals  always  reason,  and  the  man  who  rea- 
sons ought  to  be  wise." 

The  young  man  jumped  into  the  road  on  hearing  the 
words,  and  said,  in  an  angry  voice  :  — 


The  Rural  Ball  299 

"Monsieur,  I  can  hardly  believe,  seeing  your  white 
hair,  that  you  still  amuse  yourself  by  seeking 
duels  —  " 

"White  hair!"  cried  the  sailor,  interrupting  him; 
"you  lie  in  your  throat;  it  is  only  gray." 

A  dispute  thus  begun  became,  in  a  few  seconds,  so 
hot  that  the  young  adversary  forgot  the  tone  of  moder- 
ation he  tried  to  use.  At  this  moment  Emilie  rode 
anxiously  back  to  them,  and  the  count  gave  his  name 
hurriedly  to  the  young  man,  telling  him  to  say  noth- 
ing more  in  presence  of  the  lady  who  was  intrusted 
to  his  care.  The  young  stranger  could  not  help  smil- 
ing, but  he  gave  his  card  to  the  old  gentleman,  re- 
marking that  he  lived  in  a  country-house  at  Chevreuse, 
after  which  he  disappeared  rapidly. 

"You  came  near  killing  that  poor  fellow,  niece," 
said  the  count,  riding  up  to  Emilie.  "Why  don't  you 
hold  your  horse  in  hand  ?  You  left  me  to  compromise 
my  dignity  in  order  to  cover  your  folly;  whereas  if 
you  had  stayed  on  the  spot  one  of  your  looks  or  civil 
words,  which  you  can  say  prettily  enough  when  you 
don't  want  to  be  impertinent,  would  have  mended 
matters  even  if  you  had  broken  his  arm." 

"My  dear  uncle,  it  was  your  horse,  not  mine,  that 
caused  the  accident.  I  really  think  you  ought  to  give 
up  riding;  you  are  not  half  so  good  a  horseman  as 
you  were  last  year.  But  instead  of  talking  about 
trifles  —  " 

"Trifles!  the  devil!  Do  you  call  it  a  trifle  to  be 
impertinent  to  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  — we  had  much  better  follow  that  young  man  and 
see  if  he  is  hurt.     He  is  limping,  uncle,  see!  " 


300  The  Rural  Ball. 

"No,  he  is  running.     I  gave  him  a  good  lesson." 

"Ah!  uncle,  that  was  just  like  you." 

"Stop,  niece,"  said  the7  count,  catching  Emilie' s 
horse  by  the  bridle.  "I  don't  see  the  necessity  of 
running  after  some  shopkeeper,  who  may  think  him- 
self only  too  happy  to  be  run  down  by  a  pretty  young 
girl  and  the  commander  of  the  '  Belle-Poule.  '  " 

"Why  do  you  think  he  is  a  shopkeeper,  uncle?  I 
think,  on  the  contrary,  that  his  manners  are  very 
distinguished." 

"Everybody  has  manners  in  these  days." 

"Everybody  has  not  the  air  and  style  of  social  life; 
I  '11  lay  a  wager  with  you  that  that  young  man  is 
noble." 

"You  didn't  have  time  to  examine  him." 

"But  it  isn't  the  first  time  I  have  seen  him." 

"Ha,  ha!  "  laughed  her  uncle;  "and  it  is  n't  the  first 
time  you  have  hunted  for  him,  either." 

Emilie  colored,  and  her  uncle  amused  himself  by 
leaving  her  a  while  embarrassed  ;  then  he  said  :  — 

"Emilie,  you  know  I  love  you  as  my  own  child, 
because  you  are  the  only  one  of  the  family  who  keeps 
the  legitimate  pride  of  high  birth.  Ah!  my  little 
niece,  who  'd  have  thought  good  principles  would  have 
become  so  rare  ?  Well,  I  wish  to  be  your  confidant. 
My  dear  little  girl,  I  see  you  are  not  indifferent  to 
that  young  gentleman.  You  know  what  that  means. 
Therefore,  let  me  help  you.  Let  us  both  keep  the 
secret,  and  I  '11  promise  to  introduce  him  to  you  in 
a  salon." 

"When,  uncle?" 

"To-morrow." 


The  Rural  Ball  301 

"But,  my  dear  uncle,  you  won't  bind  me  to  any- 
thing?" 

"To  nothing  at  all;  you  can  bombard  him,  set  fire 
to  him,  make  a  wreck  of  him  if  you  please.  And  he 
won't  be  the  first,  either." 

"How  kind  you  are,  uncle." 

As  soon  as  the  count  got  home  he  put  on  his  spec- 
tacles, pulled  the  card  from  his  pocket,  and  read  the 
name,  "Maximilien  Longueville,  rue  du  Sentier." 

"You  needn't  feel  uneasy,"  he  said  later  to  Emilie; 
"you  can  harpoon  him  in  safety;  he  belongs  to  one 
of  the  great  historical  families,  and  if  he  is  n't  peer  of 
France  now  he  can  certainly  become  so." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"That 's  my  secret." 

"Do  you  know  his  name?" 

The  count  nodded  his  gray  head,  which  was  some- 
thing like  an  old  oak  stump,  around  which  a  few 
autumn  leaves  were  clinging.  At  that  nod  his  niece 
ran  to  him  to  try  the  ever  fresh  effect  of  her  coquet- 
ries. Learned  in  the  art  of  cajoling  the  old  sailor, 
she  coaxed  him  like  a  child  with  the  tenderest  words. 
She  even  went  so  far  as  to  kiss  him,  in  order  to  obtain 
the  important  secret.  But  the  old  man,  who  passed 
his  life  in  making  his  niece  play  such  scenes,  let  her 
entreat  and  pet  him  for  a  long  time.  Presently  she 
grew  angry  and  sulked  ;  then,  under  the  spur  of  curi- 
osity, she  coaxed  again.  The  diplomatic  mariner  first 
obtained  her  solemn  promise  to  behave  with  more 
discretion,  to  be  more  gentle,  less  self-willed,  to  spend 
less  money,  and,  above  all,  to  tell  him  everything. 
This   treaty   being   concluded  and   signed  by  a  kiss 


302  The  Rural  Ball 

which  he  deposited  on  Emilie' s  white  forehead,  he 
seated  her  on  his  knee,  pla-ced  the  card  before  her  eyes, 
with  his  two  thumbs  covering  the  print,  and  let  her 
make  out,  letter  by  letter,  the  name  of  Longueville, 
obstinately  refusing  to  show  her  more. 

This  event  made  the  secret  sentiments  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine  even  more  intense,  and  she  spent 
the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  picturing  to  her  mind's 
eye  the  brilliant  dreams  with  which  she  fed  her  hopes. 
Thanks  to  chance,  so  often  invoked,  Emilie  now  saw 
something  besides  a  mere  chimera  in  her  visions  of 
conjugal  life.  Like  all  young  girls,  who  are  ignorant 
of  the  risks  of  love  and  marriage,  she  was  captivated 
by  the  deceitful  externals  of  the  two  conditions.  In 
other  words,  her  sentiments  were  like  other  caprices 
of  early  youth,  sweet  but  cruel  errors  which  exercise  a 
fatal  influence  on  the  existence  of  girls  who  are  inex- 
perienced enough  to  take  upon  their  own  shoulders  the 
responsibility  of  their  future  happiness. 

The  next  morning,  before  Emilie  was  awake,  her 
uncle  had  ridden  to  Chevreuse.  Finding  in  the  court- 
yard of  an  elegant  country-house  the  young  man  he 
had  so  wantonly  insulted  the  night  before,  he  went  up 
to  him  with  the  affectionate  politeness  of  the  old  men 
of  the  olden  time. 

"My  dear  monsieur,"  he  said,  "could  any  one 
believe  that  I  should,  at  the  age  of  sixty-three,  get  up 
a  quarrel  with  the  son  of  one  of  my  oldest  friends?  I 
am  a  vice-admiral,  monsieur;  which  is  proof  enough 
that  I  think  no  more  of  fighting  a  duel  than  of  smok- 
ing a  cigar.  In  my  day,  young  fellows  could  n't  be 
friends  till  they  had  seen  the  color  of  each  other's 


The  Rural  Ball.  303 

blood.  But,  ventre-de-biche  !  I  had,  you  must  know, 
taken  a  trifle  too  much  grog  aboard,  and  I  ran  foul  of 
you.  Shake  hands!  I  'd  rather  receive  a  hundred  re- 
buffs from  a  Longueville  than  give  the  slightest  pain 
to  any  of  the  family." 

Though  at  first  the  young  man  was  inclined  to  be 
cold  to  the  Comte  de  Kergarouët,  it  was  impossible  to 
hold  out  long  against  his  hearty  manner,  and  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  shaken  by  the  hand. 

"You  are  going  out,"  said  the  count;  "don't  let  me 
detain  you.  But,  unless  you  have  other  plans,  come 
and  dine  with  me  to-day  at  the  Pavillon  Planât.  My 
nephew,  the  Comte  de  Fontaine,  is  a  man  you  ought 
to  know.  And,  besides,  morbleu!  I  want  to  repair 
my  rudeness  by  presenting  you  to  four  or  five  of  the 
prettiest  women  of  Paris.  Ha,  ha!  young  man,  your 
brow  unclouds  !  Well,  I  like  young  people,  and  I  want 
to  see  them  happy.  Their  happiness  reminds  me  of 
those  blessed  days  of  youth  when  adventures  were 
never  lacking.  Gay!  oh,  we  were  gay  then,  I  can 
tell  you.  Nowadays,  you  reason,  you  worry  about 
all  sorts  of  things,  as  if  there  had  never  been  a  fif- 
teenth or  sixteenth  century." 

"But,  monsieur,  are  not  we  right  to  do  so?  The 
sixteenth  century  gave  Europe  religious  liberty  only, 
whereas  the  nineteenth  will  give  her  poli  — 

"Stop,  stop,  don't  talk  politics.  I'm  an  old  fogy 
of  an  ultra.  But  for  all  that,  I  don't  prevent  young 
fellows  from  being  revolutionists,  provided  they  allow 
the  king  to  disperse  their  meetings." 

Riding  on  together  a  little  way,  the  count  and  his 
companion  were  soon  in  the  heart  of  the  woods.     The 


304  The  Rural  Ball. 

old  sailor  selected  a  slim  young  birch,  stopped  his 
horse,  pulled  out  a  pistol,  and  sent  a  ball  through  its 
stem  at  forty  paces. 

"You  see,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  have  no  reason  to 
fear  a  duel,"  he  remarked,  with  comic  gravity,  as  he 
looked  at  Monsieur  Longueville. 

"Nor  I,  either,"  said  the  young  man,  pulling  out  his 
own  pistol.  Aiming  for  the  count's  hole  he  put  his 
ball  close  beside  it. 

"That's  what  I  call  a  well  brought-up  young  man," 
cried  the  count,  with  enthusiasm. 

During  this  ride  with  the  man  he  already  regarded 
as  his  nephew,  he  found  several  opportunities  to 
make  inquiries  as  to  those  trifling  accomplishments 
the  possession  of  which  constituted,  according  to  his 
peculiar  code,  a  finished  gentleman. 

"Have  you  any  debts?"  he  asked,  finally,  after  a 
variety  of  other  questions. 

"No,  monsieur." 

"What!  you  pay  for  what  you  buy!  " 

"Punctually,  monsieur;  otherwise  we  should  lose 
our  credit  and  standing." 

"But  of  course  you  have  a  mistress?  Ah!  you  blush, 
young  man.  How  times  have  changed,  to  be  sure! 
With  these  ideas  of  legality,  Kantism,  liberty,  youth 
is  spoiled.  You  have  neither  Guimard,  nor  Duthé,  nor 
creditors,  and  you  don't  know  heraldry!  Why,  my  dear 
young  friend,  you  are  not  brought-up  at  all  !  Let  me 
tell  you  that  he  who  does  n't  commit  his  follies  in  the 
spring  is  certain  to  commit  them  in  winter.  If  I 
have  eighty  thousand  francs  a  year  at  seventy  it  is 
because  I  ran  through   my  capital  at  thirty —     Oh! 


The  Rural  Ball.  305 

with  my  wife,  honorably.  Nevertheless  your  imper- 
fections will  not  prevent  me  from  presenting  you  at 
the  Pavillon  Planât.  Remember  that  you  have  prom- 
ised to  come,  and  I  shall  expect  you." 

"  What  an  odd  little  man  !  "  thought  Longueville  ; 
"he  is  lively  and  robust,  but  —  though  he  tries  to 
seem  kindly,  I  shall  not  trust  him." 

The  next  day,  about  four  o'clock,  as  the  family 
party  were  scattered  about  in  the  salons  and  billiard- 
room  at  Planât,  a  servant  announced:  — 

"Monsieur  de  Longueville." 

Having  already  heard  of  bim  from  the  Comte  de 
Kergarouët,  the  whole  company,  even  to  a  billiard- 
player  who  missed  his  stroke,  gathered  to  see  the  new- 
comer, as  much  to  watch  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine's 
face  as  to  judge  of  the  phoenix  who  had  won  the  day 
in  defiance  of  so  many  rivals.  Manners  that  were  full 
of  ease,  courteous  politeness,  a  style  of  dress  both 
elegant  and  simple,  and  a  voice  which  vibrated  to  the 
heart  of  all  hearers  at  once  obtained  for  Monsieur 
Longueville  the  good-will  of  the  whole  family.  He 
did  not  seem  unused  to  the  luxury  now  about  him. 
Though  his  conversation  was  that  of  a  man  of  the 
world,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had  received  a  bril- 
liant education,  and  that  his  knowledge  was  solid  and 
also  extensive.  He  used,  for  instance,  the  proper 
technical  word  in  a  slight  discussion  which  the  count 
started  on  naval  constructions,  which  led  one  of  the 
women  present  to  remark  that  he  must  have  been 
educated  at  the  École  Polytechnique. 

"I  agree  with  you,  madame,"  he  replied,  "that  it  is 
an  honor  to  have  been  educated  there." 

20 


306  The  Rural  Ball. 

i 

In  spite  of  much  urging,  he  declined  politely,  but 
firmly,  the  urgent  invitation  of  the  family  that  he 
should  stay  to  dinner;  and  he  put  an  end  to  all  remarks 
from  the  ladies  by  saying  that  he  was  the  Hippocrates 
of  a  young  sister  whose  delicate  health  required  inces- 
sant watching. 

" Monsieur  is  perhaps  a  physician?"  said  one  of 
Emilie's  sisters-in-law,  rather  maliciously. 

"No,  monsieur  was  educated  at  the  École  Polytech- 
nique," interposed  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  whose 
face  had  brightened  with  the  richest  tints  on  hearing 
that  the  lady  she  had  seen  at  the  ball  was  Monsieur 
Longueville's  sister. 

"But,  my  dear  sister,  a  man  can  be  educated  at  the 
École  Polytechnique  and  yet  be  a  physician.  Isn't 
that  so,  monsieur?" 

"Madame,  the  two  things  are  not  incompatible,"  re- 
plied the  young  man. 

All  eyes  rested  on  Emilie,  who  looked  with  a  sort  of 
uneasy  curiosity  at  the  attractive  stranger.  She 
breathed  more  freely  when  he  added,  with  a  smile,  — 

"I  have  not  the  honor  of  being  a  physician, 
madame,  and  I  have  even  declined  an  opportunity  to 
enter  the  government  service,  in  order  to  maintain  my 
independence." 

"And  you  did  right,"  said  the  count.  "But  how 
can  you  call  it  an  honor  to  be  a  doctor?  Ah!  my 
young  friend,  for  a  man  like  you  —  " 

"Monsieur  le  comte,  I  feel  infinite  respect  for  all 
professions  that  are  useful." 

"I'll  agree  to  that;  you  respect  professions,  I  sus- 
pect, as  other  young  men  respect  dowagers." 


The  Rural  Ball.     .  307 

Monsieur  Longueville's  visit  was  neither  too  long 
nor  too  short.  He  withdrew  at  the  moment  when  he 
had  pleased  every  one  and  when  the  curiosity  of  all 
was  fairly  roused. 

"That's  a  sly  fellow,"  said  the  count,  returning  to 
the  salon,  after  seeing  the  young  man  to  the  door. 

Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  who  alone  was  in  the 
secret  of  this  visit,  had  made  a  somewhat  choice  toi- 
let to  attract  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  ;  but  she  had 
the  small  annoyance  of  perceiving  that  he  paid  her  less 
attention  than  she  thought  her  due.  The  family  were 
a  good  deal  surprised  at  the  silence  into  which  she 
retired.  Usually  Emilie  displayed  her  coquettish 
charms,  her  clever  chatter,  and  the  inexhaustible  elo- 
quence of  her  glances  and  her  attitudes  on  each  new- 
comer. Whether  it  was  that  the  musical  voice  of  the 
young  man  and  the  attraction  of  his  manners  had 
seriously  charmed  her,  and  that  this  real  sentiment  had 
given  her  a  change  of  heart,  it  is  certain  that  her 
behavior  lost  all  affectation.  Becoming  simple  and 
natural  she  was  all  the  more  beautiful.  Some  of  her 
sisters,  and  an  old  lady,  a  friend  of  the  family,  saw  a 
refinement  of  coquetry  in  this  conduct.  They  sup- 
posed that  finding  a  young  man  worthy  of  her  she 
intended  to  show  him  slowly  her  charms,  and  then  to 
dazzle  him  suddenly  when  her  mind  was  made  up. 

Every  member  of  the  family  was  curious  to  know 
what  the  capricious  girl  thought  of  the  stranger;  but 
when,  during  dinner,  they  each  took  occasion  to  endow 
Monsieur  Longueville  with  some  fresh  merit,  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine  was  mute  until  a  slight  sarcasm 
from  her  uncle  roused  her  suddenly  from  her  apathy; 


308  The  Rural  Ball, 

she  then  said,  in  a  pointed  manner,  that  such  celestial 
perfections  must  cover  some  great  defect,  and  that 
for  her  part  she  should  be  careful  not  to  judge  of  so 
clever  a  man  at  first  sight. 

"Those  who  please  every  one  please  no  one  in  par- 
ticular," she  added;  "and  the  worst  of  all  defects  is 
to  have  none." 

Like  all  young  girls  who  fall  in  love,  Emilie  fondly 
hoped  to  hide  her  feelings  in  her  heart  by  misleading 
the  Argus  eyes  that  surrounded  her;  but  at  the  end  of 
a  fortnight  there  was  not  a  single  member  of  this 
numerous  family  who  was  not  initiated  into  her  secret. 

At  Monsieur  Longueville's  third  visit  Emilie  felt 
that  she  attracted  him.  This  discovery  gave  her  such 
intoxicating  pleasure  that  she  felt  surprised  at  herself 
when  she  reflected  on  it.  There  was  something  humili- 
ating to  her  pride  in  it.  Accustomed  to  feel  herself 
the  centre  of  the  world  she  lived  in,  she  was  now 
obliged  to  recognize  a  power  which  controlled  her  in 
spite  of  herself.  She  tried  to  rebel  against  it,  but 
she  was  wholly  unable  to  drive  from  her  heart  the 
seductive  image  of  the  young  man.  Then  came 
uneasiness.  Two  characteristics  of  Monsieur  Longue- 
ville  were  very  unwelcome,  both  to  the  general  curi- 
osity and  that  of  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  in  partic- 
ular; namely,  his  discretion  and  his  modesty.  He 
never  spoke  of  himself,  or  of  his  family,  or  his  occu- 
pations. In  spite  of  the  traps  which  Emilie  repeat- 
edly laid  for  him  in  conversation,  he  managed  to  evade 
them  all  with  the  cleverness  of  a  diplomatist  who 
means  to  keep  his  secret.  If  she  talked  of  painting, 
Monsieur   Longueville  replied  as  a  connoisseur.      If 


The  Rural  Ball.  309 

she  tried  music,  the  young  man  showed,  without 
conceit,  that  he  could  play  the  piano  fairly  well.  One 
evening  he  delighted  the  company  by  blending  his 
delightful  voice  with  that  of  Emilie  in  one  of  Cima- 
rosa's  fine  duets.  But  if  any  one  attempted  to  dis- 
cover whether  he  were  an  artist  of  any  kind,  he  joked 
about  his  accomplishments  with  so  much  grace  that 
he  left  these  women,  practised  as  they  were  in  the  art 
of  divining  such  secrets,  unable  to  discover  the  social 
sphere  to  which  he  belonged.  No  matter  with  what 
vigor  the  old  admiral  flung  a  grapnel  to  the  vessel, 
Longueville  managed  to  slip  by  it  with  a  suppleness 
which  preserved  the  charm  of  mystery  ;  and  it  was  all 
the  more  easy  for  him  to  keep  his  incognito  at  the 
Pavillon  Planât,  because  the  curiosity  he  there  aroused 
never  exceeded  the  limits  of  politeness. 

Emilie,  tortured  by  this  reserve,  fancied  she  might 
get  more  from  the  sister  than  from  the  brother,  and 
she  now  attempted,  with  the  help  of  her  uncle,  to 
bring  that  hitherto  mute  personage,  Mademoiselle 
Clara  Longueville,  on  the  scene.  The  society  at  the 
Pavilion  expressed  an  extreme  desire  to  know  so 
amiable  a  young  lady  and  to  afford  her  some  amuse- 
ment. An  informal  ball  was  proposed  and  accepted, 
and  the  ladies  felt  certain  of  getting  the  truth  from  a 
girl  of  sixteen. 

In  spite  of  these  little  clouds  of  doubt,  a  vivid  light 
had  entered  the  soul  of  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine, 
who  found  a  new  and  delightful  charm  in  life  when 
connected  with  another  being  besides  herself.  She 
began  to  conceive  the  true  nature  of  social  relations. 
Whether   happiness   makes   better   beings   of   us,    or 


310  The  Rural  Ball 

whether  her  mind  was  too  occupied  to  tease  and  har- 
ass others,  it  is  certain  that  she  became  less  caustic, 
gentler  and  more  indulgent.  This  change  in  her  char- 
acter delighted  the  astonished  family.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  her  selfishness  was  to  turn  into  love.  Merely  to 
expect  the  arrival  of  her  reserved  adorer  was  joy. 
Though  a  single  word  of  passion  had  never  passed 
between  them  she  knew  herself  loved.  With  what 
art  she  now  enabled  her  unknown  lover  to  display  his 
accomplishments  and  the  treasures  of  an  education  that 
was  evidently  varied.  Conscious  that  she  herself  was 
being  carefully  observed,  she  felt  her  defects  and  tried 
to  conquer  those  which  her  training  had  so  fatally 
encouraged.  It  was  indeed  a  first  homage  paid  to 
love,  and  a  bitter  reproach  which  her  awakened  heart 
made  to  itself.  The  result  was  that,  wanting  to  please, 
she  fascinated;  she  loved,  and  was  idolized. 

Her  family,  knowing  how  amply  her  pride  protected 
her,  allowed  her  enough  liberty  to  enjoy  those  little 
youthful  happinesses  which  give  such  charm  and  such 
vigor  to  young  love.  More  than  once  the  young  man 
and  Emilie  walked  alone  about  the  shrubbery  of  the 
park,  where  nature  was  decked  like  beauty  for  a  ball. 
More  than  once  they  held  those  vague  and  aimless  con- 
versations the  emptiest  words  of  which  conceal  the 
deepest  sentiments.  Together  they  admired  the 
setting  sun  and  its  glowing  colors.  They  gathered 
daisies  to  pluck  the  leaves;  they  sang  the  passionate 
duets  of  Pergolesi  and  Rossini,  using  those  notes  as 
faithful  interpreters  to  express  their  secret  feelings. 


The  Rural  Ball.  311 


III. 

IN   WHICH    THE   WORST   COMES    TO    THE   WORST. 

The  day  of  the  ball  arrived.  Clara  Longueville 
and  her  brother,  whom  the  footmen  persisted  in  deco- 
rating with  the  particle,  were  the  heroes  of  it.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  saw 
the  triumph  of  another  girl  with  pleasure.  She  lav- 
ished, in  all  sincerity,  upon  Clara,  those  pretty  caresses 
and  attentions  which  women  often  show  to  each  other 
to  excite  the  jealousy  of  men.  Emilie  had  an  object 
of  her  own,  however;  she  wanted  to  obtain  the  secret. 
But  Mademoiselle  Longueville  proved  to  have  even 
more  discretion  and  more  cleverness  than  her  brother, 
for  she  did  not  even  seem  to  be  reserved, —  keeping 
the  conversation  away  from  personal  interests,  but 
giving  it  so  great  a  charm  on  other  subjects  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  felt  a  sort  of  envy,  and 
called  her  "the  siren."  Though  Émilie's  intention 
was  to  question  Clara,  it  was  Clara  who  questioned 
Emilie;  she  wanted  to  judge  the  girl,  and  the  girl 
judged  her;  she  was  even  provoked  with  herself  for 
letting  her  real  self  appear  in  certain  answers  cleverly 
drawn  out  of  her  by  Clara,  whose  modest  and  inno- 
cent air  precluded  all  suspicion  of  malice.  At  one 
moment  Emilie  seemed  really  angry  at  having  made  an 
attack  upon  plebeians,  which  Clara  herself  had 
provoked. 


312  The  Rural  Ball. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  charming  girl,  "I  have 
heard  so  much  of  you  from  Maximilien  that  I  have 
longed  to  know  you;  and  to  know  you  must  be,  I 
think,  to  love  you." 

"Dear  Clara,  I  was  afraid  I  displeased  you  just  now, 
in  speaking  as  I  did  of  those  who  are  not  noble." 

uOh,  no;  don't  be  troubled.  In  these  days  such 
discussions  have  no  point;  and  as  for  me,  I  am  out- 
side of  that  question." 

This  answer  gave  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  the 
utmost  satisfaction,  for  she  interpreted  it  as  people 
interpret  oracles,  to  suit  themselves.  She  looked  at 
Maximilien,  whose  elegance  surpassed  even  that  of 
her  imaginary  type,  and  her  soul  was  filled  with  joy 
at  the  knowledge  at  last  obtained  that  he  was  noble. 
Never  did  the  two  lovers  understand  each  other  so  well 
as  at  this  moment;  more  than  once  their  hands  trem- 
bled as  they  met  in  the  figures  of  the  dance. 

Autumn  came  in  the  midst  of  fêtes  and  rural  pleas- 
ures, during  which  the  charming  couple  let  themselves 
float  upon  the  current  of  the  sweetest  of  all  sentiments, 
strengthening  that  sentiment  in  a  thousand  little  ways 
which  every  one  can  imagine,  for  all  loves  resemble 
one  another  on  certain  points.  Also  they  studied  each 
other's  characters,  as  much  as  persons  can  study  each 
other  when  they  love. 

"  Well,  never  did  a  fancy  turn  into  a  love-match  so 
rapidly,"  said  the  old  uncle,  who  watched  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  young  pair  as  a  naturalist  watches  an  insect 
through  his  microscope. 

The  words  alarmed  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Fon- 
taine.    The  old  Vende'an  was  not  as  indifferent  to  his 


The  Rural  Ball.  313 

daughter's  marriage  as  he  had  lately  professed  to  be. 
He  went  to  Paris  to  make  inquiries,  and  obtained  no 
results.  Uneasy  at  such  evident  mystery,  and  before 
he  could  hear  the  result  of  certain  inquiries  he  had  set 
on  foot  in  Paris,  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  warn  his 
daughter  to  behave  with  more  caution.  This  paternal 
advice  was  received  with  a  show  of  obedience  that  was 
evidently  ironical. 

"But  at  least,  my  dear  Emilie,  if  you  love  him  don't 
let  him  see  it." 

"  Papa,  it  is  true  that  I  love  him,  but  I  shall  wait 
for  your  permission  to  tell  him  so." 

"But  reflect,  Emilie,  that  you  don't  know  anything 
as  yet  about  his  family  or  his  station." 

"I  don't  mind  that.  But,  papa,  you  wished  to  see 
me  married;  you  gave  me  liberty  to  choose,  and  I 
have  chosen  —  what  more  can  you  want?  " 

"I  want  to  know,  my  dear,  if  the  man  you  have 
chosen  is  the  son  of  a  peer  of  France,"  replied  her 
father,  sarcastically. 

Emilie  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  she  raised 
her  head,  looked  at  her  father,  and  said,  with  some 
anxiety  :  — 

"Who  are  the  Longuevilles?" 

"The  family  became  extinct  in  the  person  of  the  old 
Duc  de  Rostein-Limbourg,  who  perished  on  the 
scaffold  in  1793.  He  was  the  last  scion  of  the  last 
youngest  branch." 

"But,  papa,  there  are  several  good  houses  descended 
from  bastards.  The  history  of  France  swarms  with 
princes  who  bear  the  bar  sinister." 

"Your  ideas  seemed  to  have  changed,"  said  the  old 
noble,  smiling. 


314  The  Rural  Ball. 

The  next  day  was  the  last  which  the  Fontaine  family 
were  to  spend  at  Planât.  Emilie,  whom  the  advice  of 
her  father  had  a  good  deal  disquieted,  impatiently 
awaited  the  hour  of  young  Longueville's  usual  visit, 
being  determined  to  obtain  some  definite  explanation 
from  him.  She  went  out  alone  after  dinner,  and 
made  her  way  to  a  grove  in  the  park  where  she  knew 
her  lover  would  be  sure  to  search  for  her.  As  she 
went  along,  she  thought  over  the  best  means  of  obtain- 
ing, without  committing  herself,  a  secret  so  impor- 
tant; a  difficult  thing  to  do.  Until  now,  no  direct 
avowal  had  sanctioned  the  feelings  which  united  her 
to  this  man.  She  had,  like  Maximilien,  enjoyed  the 
delights  of  unspoken  love,  but  proud  as  they  were,  it 
seemed  as  though  both  shrank  from  acknowledging 
their  feelings. 

Maximilien  Longueville,  in  whom  Clara  had  inspired 
certain  well-founded  suspicions  on  Emilie's  nature, 
felt  himself  alternately  driven  onward  by  the  violence 
of  his  passion,  and  restrained  by  the  desire  to  know 
and  test  a  woman  to  whom  he  was  about  to  confide  the 
happiness  of  his  life.  His  love  did  not  prevent  him 
from  seeing  in  Emilie  the  faults  and  prejudices  which 
injured  her  youthful  character;  but  he  desired  to  know 
whether  he  was  truly  loved  by  her  in  spite  of  them, 
before  speaking  to  her;  he  would  not  risk  the  fate  of 
either  his  love  or  his  life.  He  therefore  maintained 
an  outward  silence,  which  his  looks  and  attitudes  and 
slightest  actions  contradicted. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  pride  natural  to  a  young  girl, 
increased  in  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  by  the  foolish 
vanity  of  her  birth  and  beauty,  prevented  her   from 


The  Rural  Ball  315 

meeting  half-way  the  declaration  which  her  growing 
passion  sometimes  urged  her  to  bring  about.  Thus 
these  lovers  had  instinctively  understood  their  mut- 
ual situation  without  explaining  their  secret  motives. 
There  are  moments  in  life  when  the  vague  gives  pleas- 
ure to  young  souls. 

Seated  on  a  rustic  bench,  Emilie  now  thought  over 
the  events  of  these  three  enchanting  months.  Her 
father's  doubts  were  the  last  fears  that  could  touch 
her,  and  even  these  she  set  aside  by  arguments  which 
to  an  inexperienced  girl  seemed  triumphant.  In  the 
first  place,  she  convinced  herself  that  it  was  impossible 
she  should  be  deceived.  During  the  whole  summer 
she  had  never  detected  in  Maximilien  a  look,  or  word 
or  gesture  which  indicated  a  vulgar  origin  or  occupa- 
tion ;  more  than  that,  his  manner  of  discussing  topics 
proved  that  he  was  a  man  whose  mind  was  occupied 
with  the  highest  interests  of  the  nation.  " Besides," 
she  thought  to  herself,  "a  clerk,  a  banker,  or  a  mer- 
chant would  not  have  leisure  to  spend  a  whole  summer 
in  making  love  to  me  in  the  fields  and  woods;  he 
spends  his  time  as  idly  as  a  noble  whose  life  is  free  of 
care."  Then  she  abandoned  herself  to  a  course  of 
meditation  far  more  interesting  to  her  than  these  pre- 
liminary thoughts,  and  was  thus  engaged  when  a  slight 
rustling  of  the  foliage  let  her  know  that  Maximilien 
was  looking  at  her,  no  doubt  with  admiration. 

"Don't  you  know  that  it  is  very  wrong  to  come  sud- 
denly upon  girls  in  that  way?"  she  said,  smiling. 

"Above  all  when  they  are  thinking  about  their 
secrets,"  replied  Maximilien,  slyly. 

"  Why  should  n't  I  have  secrets  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
have  plenty  of  your  own." 


316  The  Rural  Ball 

"Were  you  really  thinking  of  your  secrets?"  he 
said,  laughing. 

"No,  I  was  thinking  of  yours.  I  know  all  about 
mine." 

"But,"  said  the  young  man,  gently  taking  the  girl's 
arm  and  placing  it  in  his,  "perhaps  my  secrets  are 
yours,  and  your  secrets  mine." 

After  walking  a  few  steps  they  reached  a  grove  of 
trees  which  the  setting  sun  was  wrapping  in  a  mist, 
as  it  were,  of  reds  and  browns.  This  natural  magic 
seemed  to  give  solemnity  to  the  moment.  The 
eyes  of  the  lovers  had  never  before  told  each  other  so 
many  things  that  their  lips  dared  not  say.  In  the 
grasp  of  this  sweet  intoxication  they  forgot  the  small 
conventions  of  pride  and  the  cold  calculations  of  their 
mutual  distrust.  At  first  they  could  only  express  their 
emotions  by  clasping  hands,  and  so  interpreting 
their  happy  thoughts. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  a  question  to  ask  you,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  after  a  long  silence,  in  a 
trembling  voice,  as  they  slowly  paced  onward.  "  But 
remember,  I  entreat  you,  that  it  is,  as  it  were,  forced 
upon  me  by  the  situation  in  which  I  stand  with  my 
family." 

A  pause  that  was  terrifying  to  Emilie  followed  these 
words  which  she  almost  stammered.  During  the 
moment  that  this  silence  lasted  the  girl,  hitherto  so 
proud,  dared  not  meet  the  burning  glance  of  the  man 
she  loved,  for  she  was  conscious  in  her  heart  of  the 
baseness  of  the  words  she  added  :  — 

"Are  you  noble?" 

When  they  had  left  her  lips  she  wished  herself  at 
the  bottom  of  a  lake. 


The  Rural  Ball.  317 

"Mademoiselle,"  replied  Longueville,  gravely,  his 
face  assuming  a  sort  of  stern  dignity,  "I  will  answer 
that  question  without  evasion  when  you  have  answered 
with  sincerity  the  one  I  now  put  to  you." 

He  dropped  the  arm  of  the  young  girl,  who  suddenly 
felt  alone  in  the  world,  and  said,  "Why  do  you 
question  me  about  my  birth?"  She  was  motionless, 
cold,  and  silent.  "Mademoiselle,"  he  went  on,  "let 
us  go  no  farther  if  we  do  not  comprehend  each  other. 
I  love  you,"  he  added,  in  a  deep  and  tender  tone. 
"  Well,  then!  "  he  continued,  on  hearing  the  exclama- 
tion of  joy  which  the  girl  could  not  restrain,  "why 
ask  me  if  I  am  noble  ?  " 

"Could  he  speak  thus  if  he  were  not,"  cried  an  in- 
ward voice  which  Emilie  believed  to  have  come  from 
the  depths  of  her  heart.  She  raised  her  head  grace- 
fully, seemed  to  gather  a  new  life  in  the  look  the 
young  man  gave  her,  and  held  out  her  arm  to  him  as 
though  to  make  a  new  alliance. 

"You  must  think  I  care  much  for  worldly  dignities," 
she  said. 

"I  have  no  titles  to  offer  to  my  wife,"  he  replied,  half 
in  jest  and  half  in  earnest.  "But  if  I  choose  her  in 
the  highest  rank  and  among  those  who  are  accustomed 
to  luxury  and  the  pleasures  of  opulence,  I  know  to  what 
my  choice  obliges  me.  Love  gives  all,"  he  added, 
gayly,  "but  to  lovers  only.  Married  people  want 
more  than  the  heavens  above  them  and  the  velvet  of 
the  turf  at  their  feet." 

"He  is  rich,"  thought  she.  "As  for  titles,  perhaps 
he  wants  to  test  me.  They  have  probably  told  him  I 
was  fanatical  about  nobility,  and  would  only  marry  a 


318  The  Rural  Ball. 

peer  of  France.  My  cats  of  sisters  may  have  played 
me  just  such  a  trick.  I  assure  you,  monsieur,"  she 
said  aloud,  uthat  although  I  have  had  exacting  ideas 
as  to  life  and  society,  I  now,"  glancing  at  him  in  a 
manner  to  turn  his  head,  "know  where  a  woman 
should  look  for  her  real  happiness." 

"I  trust  that  you  speak  sincerely,"  he  answered,  with 
gentle  gravity.  "Next  winter,  my  dear  Emilie,  in 
less  than  two  months,  perhaps,  I  shall  be  able  to  offer 
you  the  enjoyments  of  wealth.  What  this  means  is 
a  secret  I  am  compelled  to  keep  for  the  present.  On 
its  success  depends  my  happiness;  I  dare  not  say 
ours  —  " 

"Oh!  say  it,  say  it!"  she  exclaimed. 

With  many  tender  thoughts  and  words  they  slowly 
returned  to  the  house  and  joined  the  company  in  the 
salon.  Never  had  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  seen  her 
lover  so  lovable,  so  pleasing;  his  slim  form,  his 
engaging  manners  seemed  to  her  more  charming  than 
ever.  They  sang  together  in  Italian,  with  such  expres- 
sion that  the  company  applauded  enthusiastically. 
Their  final  adieu  was  made  in  a  formal  tone  which 
covered  a  secret  happiness.  This  day  was  to  the 
young  girl  a  chain  which  bound  her  more  closely  than 
ever  to  the  destiny  of  the  man  she  had  chosen.  The 
force  and  dignity  he  displayed  in  the  scene  we  have 
just  related,  and  in  which  their  mutual  sentiments  had 
been  revealed,  may  have  inspired  Mademoiselle  de 
Fontaine  with  a  sense  of  respect  without  which  no 
true  love  exists. 

Later  in  the  evening,  being  alone  with  her  father 
and  uncle  in  the  salon,  the  former  came  up  to  her, 


The  Rural  Ball.  319 

took  her  hands  affectionately,  and  asked  if  she  had 
obtained  any  light  as  to  the  family  and  fortune  of 
Monsieur  Longueville. 

"Yes,  my  dear  father,"  she  replied,  "and  I  am  hap- 
pier than  I  ever  thought  to  be.  Monsieur  de  Longue- 
ville is  the  only  man  I  ever  wished  to  marry." 

"Very  good,  Emilie,"  replied  her  father;  "then  I 
know  what  I  must  do." 

"Do  you  know  of  any  obstacle?  "  she  asked,  in  real 
anxiety. 

"My  dear  child,  this  young  man  is  absolutely  un- 
known; but,  unless  he  is  a  dishonest  man,  he  is  dear 
to  me  as  a  son,  because  you  love  him." 

"Dishonest!"  cried  Emilie;  "oh!  I  am  easy  about 
that.  My  uncle,  who  introduced  him  to  me,  knows 
that  much,  at  least.  Tell  me,  uncle  dear,  has  he  ever 
been  a  pirate,  a  filibuster,  a  corsair?" 

"Ah!  I  knew  I  should  come  to  this!  "  exclaimed  the 
old  sailor,  waking  up  from  a  nap. 

He  looked  about  the  salon,  but  his  niece  had  disap- 
peared, —  like  Castor  and  Pollux,  to  use  one  of  his 
own  expressions. 

"Well,  uncle,"  said  Monsieur  de  Fontaine,  "why 
have  you  hidden  from  us  all  this  time  what  you  know 
of  this  young  man?  You  must  have  seen  what  was 
going  on.  Is  Monsieur  de  Longueville  of  good 
family?" 

"I  don't  know  him  from  Adam,"  cried  the  admiral. 
"Trusting  to  the  tact  of  that  wilful  girl  I  brought  her 
the  Saint-Preux  she  wanted,  by  means  known  to  my- 
self alone.  All  I  know  about  the  lad  is  that  he  is  a 
fine  shot,  hunts  well,  plays  a  marvellous  game  of  bil- 


320  The  Rural  Ball. 

liards,  also  chess  and  backgammon  ;  and  he  fences  and 
rides  like  the  Chevalier  de  Saint-Georges.  Also  he 
has  a  most  amazing  erudition  about  vineyards  ;  and  he 
can  cipher  like  Barème,  and  draws  and  dances  and 
sings  well.  What  the  devil  do  you  want  else  ?  If  that 
isn't  all  a  perfect  gentleman  need  be,  show  me  a  bour- 
geois who  knows  as  much,  or  a  man  who  lives  more 
nobly  than  he.  You  see  for  yourself  he  does  n't  do 
anything.  Does  he  compromise  his  dignity  in  an 
office,  and  bow  down  to  parvenus,  as  you  call  directors- 
general?  No,  he  walks  erect.  He's  a  man.  But 
here,  by  the  bye,  in  the  pocket  of  my  waistcoat  is  the 
card  he  gave  me  when  he  thought,  poor  innocent!  that 
I  wanted  to  cut  his  throat.  Ha  !  young  men  nowadays 
haven't  any  tricks  in  their  bag.     Here  's  the  card." 

"Rue  du  Sentier,  number  5,"  said  Monsieur  de  Fon- 
taine, trying  to  remember  that  address  among  the 
various  pieces  of  information  he  had  obtained  from 
his  inquiries.  "What  the  devil  does  that  mean? 
Palma,  Werbrust  and  company,  wholesale  dealers  in 
muslins,  calicos,  and  printed  cottons  of  all  kinds  live 
there —  Ah!  I  have  it!  Longueville,  the  deputy, 
has  an  interest  in  that  firm.  Yes,  but  I  know  Longue- 
ville has  a  son  thirty-two  years  old,  not  the  least  like 
this  man,  to  whom  he  has  just  given  fifty  thousand  a 
year  in  order  to  marry  him  to  the  daughter  of  a  min- 
ister ;  he  wants  to  be  made  a  peer  like  all  the  rest.  I 
never  heard  him  mention  a  son  called  Maximilien. 
And  he  has  n't  a  daughter,  so  far  as  I  know.  Who  is 
this  Clara?  Besides,  it  is  open  to  any  adventurer  to 
call  himself  Longueville,  or  anything  else  he  likes. 
I'll  make  some  inquiries  about  Palma  and  Werbrust." 


The  Rural  Ball.  321 

"You  talk  as  if  you  held  the  stage  alone,"  cried  the 
old  admiral.  "Do  you  count  me  for  nothing?  Don't 
you  know  that  if  he  is  a  gentleman  I  've  got  more  than 
one  sack  in  my  lockers  to  repair  his  lack  of  fortune?" 

"As  for  that,  if  he  is  Longueville  the  deputy's  son, 
he  needs  nothing;  but,"  added  Monsieur  de  Fontaine, 
shaking  his  head  from  right  to  left,  "he  hasn't  even 
bought  a  property  which  carries  a  title.  Before  the 
Revolution  he  was  only  an  attorney,  and  the  de  he  has 
stuck  on  since  the  Restoration  no  more  belongs  to  him 
than  one  half  of  his  wealth." 

"Ah,  bah!  happy  those  whose  fathers  were  hanged!  " 
cried  the  old  sailor,  gayly. 

Three  or  four  days  later,  on  one  of  those  fine  days 
in  November  when  Parisians  find  the  pavement  of 
their  boulevard  cleansed  by  a  slight  touch  of  frost, 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  wearing  a  set  of  new  furs 
which  she  wished  to  make  the  fashion,  had  gone  out 
shopping  with  two  of  her  sisters-in-law,  the  two  whom 
she  was  most  inclined  to  ridicule.  The  three  ladies 
were  induced  to  make  this  expedition  less  to  exhibit 
an  elegant  new  carriage  and  dresses  in  the  latest  style, 
than  to  see  a  certain  pelerine  that  one  of  their  friends 
had  remarked  in  the  large  lace  and  linen  shop  at  the 
corner  of  the  rue  de  la  Paix. 

As  the  three  sisters  entered  the  shop  the  Baronne  de 
Fontaine  pulled  Emilie  by  the  sleeve  and  pointed  out 
to  her  Maximilien  Longueville  behind  the  counter, 
occupied  at  that  moment  in  receiving  money  from  the 
mistress  of  the  shop,  with  whom  he  seemed  to  be  con- 
ferring. In  his  hand  he  held  several  patterns  which 
left  no  doubt  as   to   the   nature  of   his   occupation. 

21 


322  The  Rural  Ball. 

Emilie  was  seized  with  a  cold  shudder,  fortunately 
unperceived.  Thanks  to  the  savoir-vivre  of  good 
society,  she  hid  the  fury  in  her  heart  and  replied  to 
her  sister  with  the  words,  UI  knew  it,"  in  a  richness 
of  tone  and  with  an  inimitable  accent  which  might 
have  made  the  fortune  of  an  actress  on  the  stage. 

She  advanced  to  the  counter;  Longueville  raised  his 
head,  put  the  patterns  in  his  pocket  with  perfect  self- 
possession,  bowed  to  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  and 
came  out  to  meet  her,  giving  her,  as  he  did  so,  a  pene- 
trating look. 

"Madame,"  he  said  to  the  mistress  of  the  shop,  who 
had  followed  anxiously,  "I  will  send  the  money  for 
this  bill.  My  firm  prefers  to  do  business  in  that  way. 
But  here,"  he  added,  in  a  whisper,  "is  a  thousand- 
franc  note  —  take  it;  we  will  settle  the  matter  between 
us  later.  You  will,  I  hope,  pardon  me,  mademoi- 
selle," he  said,  turning  back  to  Emilie,  "and  be  so 
kind  as  to  excuse  the  tyranny  of  business." 

"It  seems  to  me,  monsieur,  that  the  matter  is  one  to 
which  I  am  totally  indifferent,"  replied  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine,  looking  at  him  with  a  vacant  air  which 
might  have  led  a  spectator  to  think  she  saw  him  for 
the  first  time. 

"Are  you  speaking  seriously?"  asked  Maximilien, 
in  a  broken  voice. 

For  all  answer  Emilie  turned  her  back  upon  him  with 
inconceivable  rudeness.  These  few  words,  said  in  a 
low  voice,  had  escaped  the  notice  of  the  sisters-in-law. 
When,  after  having  purchased  the  pelerine,  the  three 
ladies  returned  to  their  carriage,  Emilie,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  front  seat,  could  not  refrain  from  glanc- 


The  Rural  Ball.  323 

ing  into  the  depths  of  that  odious  shop,  where  she  saw 
Maximilien  standing  with  his  arms  crossed,  in  the  atti- 
tude of  a  man  superior  to  the  trouble  which  had  come 
upon  him  so  suddenly.  Their  eyes  met,  and  each 
gave  to  the  other  an  implacable  look.  Each  hoped  to 
cruelly  wound  the  other's  heart.  In  a  moment  they 
found  themselves  as  far  apart  as  if  one  were  in  China, 
the  other  in  Greenland.  The  breath  of  worldliness 
had  withered  all! 

A  prey  to  the  most  violent  struggle  that  ever  went 
on  in  the  heart  of  a  young  girl,  Mademoiselle  de  Fon- 
taine gathered  the  amplest  harvest  of  bitter  fruits 
which  prejudice  and  pettiness  ever  sowed  in  a  human 
soul.  Her  face,  fresh  and  velvety  a  few  moments  ear- 
lier, was  furrowed  with  yellow  tones  and  red  stains, 
and  even  the  white  of  her  cheeks  turned  greenish.  In 
the  hope  of  hiding  her  trouble  from  her  sisters  she 
ridiculed  the  passers  in  the  street  or  laughed  at  a  cos- 
tume; but  the  laugh  was  convulsive.  She  was  more 
deeply  wounded  by  the  silent  compassion  of  her  sisters 
than  she  would  have  been  by  the  sharpest  sarcasms 
which  she  might  have  revenged.  She  taxed  her  whole 
mind  to  drag  them  into  a  conversation  in  which  she 
vented  her  anger  in  senseless  paradoxes  of  the  worst 
taste.  On  reaching  home  she  became  really  ill,  and 
was  seized  with  a  fever  which  at  first  showed  dangerous 
symptoms.  At  the  end  of  a  month,  however,  the  care 
of  her  family  and  her  physician  restored  her  entirely. 
Every  one  hoped  that  the  lesson  would  subdue  her  self- 
will  ;  but  she  declared  there  was  no  shame  in  having 
made  a  mistake,  and  she  once  more  flung  herself  into 
society  and  returned  to  her  former  habits  of  life.     If, 


324  The  Rural  Ball 

she  said,  she  had,  like  her  father,  influence  in  the 
Chamber,  she  would  pass  a  law  that  all  merchants  and 
shopkeepers  should  be  branded  on  the  forehead,  like 
the  sheep  of  Berry,  to  the  third  generation  ;  it  was  a 
great  injury  to  the  monarchy  that  there  was  no  visible 
difference  between  a  merchant  and  a.  peer  of  France. 

A  hundred  other  such  jests  were  poured  out  rapidly 
when  any  unforeseen  accident  started  the  topic.  But 
those  who  loved  her  were  conscious  through  her  sar- 
casms of  a  tone  of  melancholy.  Evidently  Maxi- 
milien  Longueville  still  reigned  at  the  bottom  of  that 
inexplicable  heart.  Sometimes  she  would  be  gentle  and 
sweet  as  she  had  been  during  the  brief  period  when  her 
love  was  born,  and  then  again  she  would  make  herself 
intolerable.  Her  family  excused  these  variations  of 
temper,  knowing  that  they  had  their  rise  in  sufferings 
known  and  unknown.  The  Comte  de  Kergarouët  alone 
obtained  some  slight  control  over  her,  and  this  was 
partly  by  gifts  and  amusements,  a  species  of  consola- 
tion which  seldom  misses  its  effect  on  a  Parisian  girl. 

The  first  ball  that  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  went  to 
that  winter  was  at  the  house  of  the  Neapolitan  ambas- 
sador. As  she  was  taking  her  place  in  a  quadrille  she 
saw,  not  far  from  her,  Maxmilien  Longueville,  who 
nodded  slightly  to  her  partner. 

"Is  that  young  man  a  friend  of  yours?  "  she  asked, 
disdainfully. 

"  Only  my  brother,  "  he  replied. 

Emilie  could  not  help  trembling. 

"Ah!"  continued  her  partner  in  a  tone  of  enthu- 
siasm, "he  is  the  noblest  soul  in  the  world  —  " 

" Do  you  know  my  name?"  asked  Emilie,  interrupt- 
ing him,  hastily. 


The  Rural  Ball.  325 

"No,  mademoiselle.  It  is  a  crime,  I  know,  not  to 
recollect  a  name  which  must  be  on  every  lip,  or,  I 
should  say,  in  every  heart;  but  my  excuse  is  that  I 
have  just  returned  from  Germany.  My  ambassador, 
who  is  in  Paris  on  leave  of  absence,  has  sent  me  here 
this  evening  to  serve  as  chaperon  to  his  amiable  wife, 
whom  you  can  see  over  there  in  a  corner." 

"A  tragic  muse,"  said  Emilie,  after  examining  the 
ambassadress. 

"But  that 's  her  ball  face,"  returned  the  young  dip- 
lomat, laughing.  "I  must  ask  her  to  dance;  that's 
why  I  take  my  consolation  now."  Mademoiselle  de 
Fontaine  made  him  a  little  bow.  "I  am  so  surprised," 
continued  the  chattering  secretary,  "to  see  my  brother 
here.  On  arriving  from  Vienna  I  was  told  he  was  ill 
in  bed,  and  I  wanted  to  go  to  him  at  once  ;  but  diplo- 
macy and  politics  leave  no  time  for  family  affections. 
La  padrona  délia  casa  keeps  me  in  attendance,  and 
gives  me  no  chance  to  see  my  poor  Maximilien." 

"Is  your  brother,  like  yourself,  in  diplomacy?  "  said 
Emilie. 

"No,"  said  the  secretary,  sighing.  "The  poor 
fellow  has  sacrificed  himself  to  me.  He  and  my  sister 
Clara  have  renounced  their  share  of  my  father's  prop- 
erty to  make  an  entail  for  me.  My  father  is  a  deputy 
and  expects  a  peerage  for  his  services  to  the  govern- 
ment. He  has  the  promise  of  it,"  added  the  young 
man,  in  a  low  voice.  "My  brother,  after  getting 
together  a  little  capital,  chiefly  from  our  mother's 
property,  has  gone  into  a  banking  business,  and  he  has 
just  made  a  speculation  in  Brazil  which  is  likely  to 
make  him  a  millionnaire.     I  am   very  happy  in  the 


326  The  Rural  Ball. 

thought  that  I  have  helped  him  by  my  diplomatic  rela- 
tions to  this  success.  I  am  now  expecting  a  despatch 
from  Brazil  which  I  feel  sure  will  clear  that  gloomy 
brow  of  his.     Don't  you  think  him  handsome?" 

"His  face  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  of  a  man  who 
spends  his  thoughts  on  making  money,"  she  replied. 

The  young  diplomatist  gave  a  glance  at  the  seem- 
ingly calm  face  of  his  partner. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "so  young  ladies  can  detect  the 
thoughts  of  love  beneath  all  foreheads  !  " 

"Is  your  brother  in  love?  "  asked  Emilie,  in  a  tone 
of  curiosity. 

"Yes.  My  sister  Clara,  whom  he  cares  for  like  a 
mother,  wrote  me  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  very 
pretty  girl;  but  I  have  had  no  further  news  of  the 
affair.  Would  you  believe  it,  the  poor  fellow  used  to 
get  up  at  five  in  the  morning  so  as  to  get  through  his 
business  and  ride  out  into  the  country,  where  the  lady 
was  staying.  He  ruined  a  fine  thorough-bred  horse  I 
had  sent  him.  Forgive  my  chatter,  mademoiselle,  I 
am  just  from  Germany,  where  I  have  n't  heard  a  word 
of  pure  French  spoken  ;  I  am  so  hungry  for  French 
faces  and  sick  of  Germans  that  I  'd  talk,  I  believe,  to 
the  griffins  on  a  candlestick.  Besides,  the  fault  is 
yours,  mademoiselle  ;  you  asked  me  about  my  brother, 
and  when  I  get  on  that  subject  I  am  irrepressible.  I 
should  like  to  tell  the  whole  earth  how  good  and  gener- 
ous he  is.  He  has  given  up  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
a  year  to  me  from  our  estates  at  Longueville." 

If  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  obtained  all  this  infor- 
mation she  owed  it  partly  to  the  cleverness  with  which 
she  questioned  her  confiding  partner. 


The  Rural  Ball.  327 

"How  can  you  bear  to  see  your  brother  selling 
calico  and  muslins?"  asked  Emilie,  as  they  finished 
the  third  figure  of  the  quadrille. 

"How  do  you  know  he  does?"  asked  the  diplomat- 
ist. "Thank  heaven!  if  I  do  rattle  off  a  flux  of  words 
I  have  learned  to  say  no  more  than  I  choose,  like  the 
other  fledgling  diplomatists  of  my  acquaintance." 

"I  assure  you  that  you  told  me  so." 

Monsieur  de  Longueville  looked  at  Mademoiselle  de 
Fontaine  with  a  surprise  that  was  full  of  intelligence. 

A  suspicion  entered  his  mind.  He  glanced  from  his 
partner  to  his  brother,  and  guessed  all  ;  he  clapped  his 
hands  together,  threw  up  his  eyes  and  began  to 
laugh :  — 

"lam  nothing  but  a  fool,"  he  said.  "You  are  the 
handsomest  person  here,  my  brother  is  watching  you 
furtively,  he  is  dancing  in  spite  of  his  illness,  and  you 
are  pretending  not  to  see  him!  Make  him  happy," 
he  added,  as  he  took  her  back  to  her  old  uncle.  "I  '11 
not  be  jealous  ;  though  perhaps  I  shall  wince  a  little  at 
calling  you  my  sister." 

However,  the  two  lovers  were  resolved  on  being 
inexorable.  About  two  in  the  morning  a  collation  was 
served  in  a  vast  gallery,  where,  in  order  to  allow  per- 
sons of  the  same  set  to  be  together,  the  tables  were 
arranged  as  they  are  at  a  restaurant.  By  one  of  those 
accidents  which  are  always  happening  to  lovers  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine  found  herself  placed  at  a  table 
adjoining  that  around  which  sat  some  very  distin- 
guished persons.  Maximilien  was  among  them.  Emi- 
lie listened  with  attentive  ears  to  the  talk  of  these 
neighbors.     The  companion  of  the  young   merchant 


328  The  Rural  Ball. 

was  a  Neapolitan  duchess  of  great  beauty,  and  the 
intimacy  that  he  affected  to  have  with  her  was  all 
the  more  wounding  to  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  be- 
cause at  that  moment  she  was  conscious  of  a  tenfold 
deeper  tenderness  for  her  lover  than  she  had  ever  felt 
before. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  in  my  country,  true  love  can  make 
all  kinds  of  sacrifices,"  the  duchess  was  saying  in  a 
mincing  way. 

"You  Italians  are  far  more  loving  than  French- 
women," said  Maximilien,  looking  full  at  Emilie. 
"They  are  all  vanity." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Emilie,  quickly,  "it  is  an  ill  thing 
to  calumniate  your  country.  Devotion  belongs  to  all 
lands." 

"Do  you  think,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  duchess, 
with  a  sarcastic  smile,  "that  a  Parisian  woman  would 
be  capable  of  following  her  lover  everywhere?" 

"Ah!  understand  me,  madame;  she  would  follow 
him  to  the  desert  and  live  in  tents,  but  not  behind  the 
counter  of  a  shop." 

Emilie  emphasized  these  words  with  a  gesture  of 
disdain.  Thus  the  influence  exercised  over  the  girl  by 
her  fatal  education  killed  her  dawning  happiness  twice, 
and  made  her  life  a  failure.  The  apparent  coldness 
of  Maximilien  and  the  smile  of  a  woman,  drew  from 
her  a  sarcasm  the  treacherous  delight  of  which  she 
could  not  deny  herself. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Longueville,  in  a  low  voice, 
under  cover  of  the  noise  the  women  made  when  rising 
from  table,  "no  one  will  ever  offer  more  ardent  wishes 
for  your  happiness  than  I.     Permit  me  to  give  you  this 


The  Rural  Ball.  329 

assurance  on  taking  leave  of  you.     I  start  in  a  few 
days  for  Italy." 

4 'With  a  duchess,  I  suppose." 

"No,  mademoiselle,  with  what  may  prove  a  mortal 
illness." 

"Is  that  a  fancy?"  asked  Emilie,  giving  him  an 
uneasy  glance. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "for  there  are  wounds  that  never 
heal." 

"You  will  not  go,"  said  the  imperious  young  girl, 
with  a  smile. 

"1  shall  go,"  returned  Longueville,  gravely. 

"You  will  find  me  married  on  your  return,  I  warn 
you,"  she  said,  coquettishly. 

"I  hope  so." 

"Impertinent  man!  "  she  said  to  herself;  "he  takes 
a  cruel  vengeance." 

A  fortnight  later  Maximilien  Longueville  started 
with  his  sister  Clara  for  the  balmy  and  poetic  regions 
of  la  bella  Italia,  leaving  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  a 
victim  to  bitter  regrets.  The  young  secretary  of 
legation  took  up  his  brother's  quarrel,  and  revenged 
him  publicly  by  telling  everywhere  the  reasons  for  the 
rupture.  The  Comte  de  Fontaine  was  obliged  to  use 
his  credit  at  court  to  obtain  for  Auguste  Longueville 
a  mission  to  Russia  to  protect  his  daughter  from  the 
ridicule  this  young  and  dangerous  persecutor  heaped 
upon  her. 

Not  long  after,  the  administration  was  compelled  to 
make  a  new  batch  of  peers  to  strengthen  the  aristo- 
cratic body  in  the  Upper  Chamber,  which  was  begin- 
ning to  totter  under  the  voice  of  an  illustrious  writer  ; 


330  The  Rural  Ball 

among  them  appeared  the  name  of  Monsieur  de 
Longueville,  the  father,  with  the  rank  of  viscount. 
Monsieur  de  Fontaine  was  also  raised  to  the  peerage,  a 
reward  due  to  his  devotion  during  the  dark  days,  and 
also  to  his  name,  which  was  lacking  to  the  roll  of  the 
hereditary  Chamber. 

About  this  time  Emilie,  who  had  now  attained  her 
majority,  made,  in  all  probability,  some  serious  reflec- 
tions upon  life;  for  she  changed  completely  in  tone 
and  manner.  Instead  of  saying  ill-natured  things  to 
her  uncle,  she  began  to  show  him  the  most  affectionate 
attentions;  she  brought  him  his  crutch  with  a  persist- 
ent tenderness  which  made  the  family  laugh,  she  gave 
him  her  arm,  she  went  to  drive  in  his  coach,  and  took 
walks  with  him  daily.  She  even  persuaded  him  that 
she  liked  the  smell  of  his  pipe,  and  read  his  dear 
"  Quotidienne  "  aloud  to  him  in  the  midst  of  clouds  of 
tobacco  smoke  which  the  mischievous  old  fellow  would 
sometimes  puff  at  her  intentionally.  She  learned 
piquet  to  play  with  him,  and  she,  so  fastidious,  lis- 
tened without  impatience  to  his  ever-recurring  tales  of 
the  famous  fight  of  the  " Belle  Poule,"  the  manoeuvring 
of  the  "Ville  de  Paris,"  the  first  expedition  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Suffren,  or  the  battle  of  Aboukir.  Though  the 
old  admiral  was  fond  of  saying  that  he  knew  his  lati- 
tude and  longitude  too  well  for  any  young  corvette  to 
overhaul  him,  the  salons  of  Paris  were  startled  one  fine 
morning  by  the  news  that  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine 
had  married  the  Comte  de  Kergarouët. 

The  young  countess  gave  splendid  fêtes  to  divert  her 
mind;  but  she  soon  found  the  hollowness  of  her  vor- 
tex; luxury  was  a  poor  cover  to  the  emptiness  and 


The  Rural  Ball.  331 

misery  of  her  suffering  soul;  in  spite  of  her  feigned 
gayety,  her  beautiful  features  expressed,  for  the  most 
part,  a  dull  melancholy.  She  always,  however,  paid 
great  attention  to  her  old  husband,  and  her  whole  con- 
duct was  so  severely  proper  that  the  most  ill-natured 
critic  could  find  nothing  to  reprimand.  Observers 
thought  that  the  admiral  had  reserved  the  right  of 
disposing  of  his  fortune  so  as  to  hold  his  wife  the  more 
securely;  but  this  supposition  was  unjust  both  to  the 
uncle  and  to  the  niece.  Their  demeanor  to  each  other 
was  so  judiciously  managed  that  those  most  interested 
were  unable  to  decide  whether  the  old  count  treated 
his  wife  as  a  father  or  as  a  husband;  though  the 
admiral  was  heard  to  say,  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
that  he  had  saved  his  niece  from  a  wreck;  and  that 
in  former  times  at  sea  he  had  never  abused  his  rights 
over  a  shipwrecked  enemy  who  fell  into  his  hands. 

Though  the  countess  aspired  to  reign  in  Parisian 
society,  and  successfully  endeavored  to  hold  her  own 
against  the  duchesses  de  Maufrigneuse  and  de  Chau- 
lieu,  the  marquises  d'Espard  and  d'Aiglemont,  the 
countesses  Féraud,  de  Montcornet,  de  Restand,  Ma- 
dame de  Camps  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  she 
did  not  yield  to  the  love  of  the  young  Vicomte  de 
Portenduère,  who  made  her  his  idol. 

Two  years  after  her  marriage,  being  in  one  of  the 
oldest  salons  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  Emilie 
heard  the  name  of  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  de  Longueville 
announced.  Her  emotion  passed  unperceived  in  the 
corner  of  the  salon  where  she  was  playing  piquet  with 
the  Bishop%of  Persépolis.  Turning  her  head,  she  saw 
her  former  lover  enter  the  room  in  the  glow  of  youth 


332  The  Rural  Ball. 

and  distinction.  The  death  of  his  father,  and  that  of 
his  brother  (killed  by  the  climate  of  St.  Petersburg) 
had  placed  upon  his  head  the  hereditary  plumes  of  the 
peerage  ;  his  fortune  was  equal  to  his  station  and  his 
acquirements;  only  the  evening  before,  his  fiery  elo- 
quence had  electrified  the  Chamber.  At  this  moment 
he  appeared  before  the  eyes  of  the  sad  countess,  free, 
and  adorned  with  all  the  advantages  she  had  formerly 
demanded  in  her  ideal  lover;  and  more  than  all,  Emilie 
knew  well  that  the  Vicomte  de  Longueville  possessed 
that  firmness  of  character  in  which  a  woman  of  sense 
sees  the  strongest  pledge  of  happiness.  She  cast  her 
eyes  upon  the  admiral,  who,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
was  likely  to  swing  at  anchor  for  a  long  time  to  come, 
and  she  cursed  the  follies  and  errors  of  her  youth. 

Just  then  Monsieur  de  Persépolis  remarked  with 
his  episcopal  grace,  — 

"My  dear  lady,  you  have  thrown  away  the  king  of 
hearts,  and  I  win.  But  don't  regret  your  money;  I 
keep  it  for  my  ragged  schools." 


THE    END. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


25al$ac  in  <£ngliglj, 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

By  Honoré  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.    i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 


"There  are,"  says  Henry  James  in  one  of  his  essays,  "two  writers  in 
Balzac, —the  spontaneous  one  and  the  reflective  one,  the  former  of 
which  is  much  the  more  delightful,  while  the  latter  is  the  more  extraordi- 
nary." It  is  the  reflective  Balzac,  the  Balzac  with  a  theory,  whom  we 
get  in  the  M  Deux  Jeunes  Mariées,"  now  translated  by  Miss  Wormeley 
under  the  title  of  "Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women."  The 
theory  of  Balzac  is  that  the  marriage  of  convenience,  properly  regarded, 
is  far  preferable  to  the  marriage  simply  from  love,  and  he  undertakes  to 
prove  this  proposition  by  contrasting  the  careers  of  two  young  girls  who 
have  been  fellow-students  at  a  convent.  One  of  them,  the  ardent  and 
passionate  Louise  de  Chaulieu,  has  an  intrigue  with  a  Spanish  refugee, 
finally  marries  him,  kills  him,  as  she  herself  confesses,  by  her  perpetual 
jealousy  and  exaction,  mourns  his  loss  bitterly,  then  marries  a  golden- 
haired  youth,  lives  with  him  in  a  dream  of  ecstasy  for  a  year  or  so,  and 
this  time  kills  herself  through  jealousy  wrongfully  inspired.  As  for  het 
friend,  Renée  de  Maucombe,  she  dutifully  makes  a  marriage  to  please  her 
parents,  calculates  coolly  beforehand  how  many  children  she  will  have  and 
how  they  shall  be  trained;  insists,  however,  that  the  marriage  shall  be 
merely  a  civil  contract  till  she  and  her  husband  find  that  their  hearts  are 
indeed  one;  and  sees  all  her  brightest  visions  realized,  —  her  Louis  an 
ambitious  man  for  her  sake  and  her  children  truly  adorable  creatures. 
The  siory,  which  is  told  in  the  form  of  letters,  fairly  scintillates  with 
brilliant  sayings,  and  is  filled  with  eloquent  discourses  concerning  the 
nature  of  love,  conjugal  and  otherwise.  Louise  and  Renée  are  both 
extremely  sophisticated  young  women,  even  in  their  teens  ;  and  those 
who  expect  to  find  in  their  letters  the  demure  innocence  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  type  will  be  somewhat  astonished.  The  translation,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  rather  a  daring  attempt,  but  it  has  been  most  felicit- 
ously done.  —  The  Beacon. 


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Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  Publications. 

2M$ac  in  «Engli^ 

THE  VILLAGE  RECTOR. 

By  Honoré  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.     i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 


Once  more  that  wonderful  acquaintance  which  Balzac  had  with  all  callings 
appears  manifest  in  this  work.  Would  you  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  engineer's 
occupation  in  France?  Balzac  presents  it  in  the  whole  system,  with  its  aspects, 
disadvantages,  and  the  excellence  of  the  work  accomplished.  We  write  to-day 
of  irrigation  and  of  arboriculture  as  if  they  were  novelties  ;  yet  in  the  waste  lands 
of  Montagnac,  Balzac  found  these  topics  ;  and  what  he  wrote  is  the  clearest 
exposition  of  the  subjects. 

But,  above  all,  in  "The  Village  Rector"  is  found  the  most  potent  of  religious 
ideas,  —  the  one  that  God  grants  pardon  to  sinners.  Balzac  had  studied  and 
appreciated  the  intensely  human  side  of  Catholicism  and  its  adaptiveness  to  the 
wants  of  mankind.  It  is  religion,  with  Balzac,  "  that  opens  to  us  an  inexhaustible 
treasure  of  indulgence."     It  is  true  repentance  that  saves. 

The  drama  which  is  unrolled  in  "The  Village  Rector  "  is  a  terrible  one,  and 
perhaps  repugnant  to  our  sensitive  minds.  The  selection  of  such  a  plot,  pitiless 
as  it  is,  Balzac  made  so  as  to  present  the  darkest  side  of  human  nature,  and  to 
show  how,  through  God's  pity,  a  soul  might  be  saved.  The  instrument  of  mercy 
is  the  Rector  Bonnet,  and  in  the  chapter  entitled  "  The  Rector  at  Work"  he 
shows  how  religion  "  extends  a  man's  life  beyond  the  world."  It  is  not  sufficient 
to  weep  and  moan.  "That  is  but  the  beginning;  the  end  is  action."  The 
rector  urges  the  woman  whose  sins  are  great  to  devote  what  remains  of  her  life 
to  work  for  the  benefit  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  and  so  she  sets  about  reclaim- 
ing the  waste  lands  which  surround  her  chateau.  With  a  talent  of  a  superlative 
order,  which  gives  grace  to  Véronique,  she  is  like  the  Madonna  of  some  old  panel 
of  Van  Eyck's.  Doing  penance,  she  wears  close  to  her  tender  skin  a  haircloth 
vestment.  For  love  of  her,  a  man  has  committed  murder  and  died  and  kept  his 
secret.  In  her  youth,  Veronique's  face  had  been  pitted,  but  her  saintly  life  had 
obliterated  that  spotted  mantle  of  smallpox.  Tears  had  washed  out  every  blemish. 
If  through  true  repentance  a  soul  was  ever  saved,  it  was  Veronique's.  This 
work,  too,  has  afforded  consolation  to  many  miserable  sinners,  and  showed  them 
the  way  to  grace. 

The  present  translation  is  to  be  cited  for  its  wonderful  accuracy  and  its  literary 
distinction.  We  can  hardly  think  of  a  more  difficult  task  than  the  Englishing  of 
Balzac,  and  a  general  reading  public  should  be  grateful  for  the  admirable  manner 
in  which  Miss  Wormeley  has  performed  her  task.  — New  York  Times. 


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BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  CONSOLATION. 

(L'ENVERS  DE  L'HISTOIRE  CONTEMPORAINE.) 

By   HONORÉ   DE   BALZAC. 

t.  Madame  de  la  Chanterie.  2.  The  Initiate.  Translated  by 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.  i2mo.  Half  Russia.  Price, 
$1.50. 

There  is  no  book  of  Balzac  which  is  informed  by  a  loftier  spirit  than 
"L'Envers  de  l'Histoire  Contemporaine,"  which  has  just  been  added  by  Miss 
Wormeley  to  her  admirable  series  of  translations  under  the  title,  "  The  Brother- 
hood of  Consolation."  The  title  which  is  given  to  the  translation  is,  to  our 
thinking,  a  happier  one  than  that  which  the  work  bears  in  the  original,  since,  after 
all,  the  political  and  historical  portions  of  the  book  are  only  the  background  of  the 
other  and  more  absorbing  theme,  —  the  development  of  the  brotherhood  over 
which  Madame  de  la  Chanterie  presided.  It  is  true  that  there  is  about  it  all 
something  theatrical,  something  which  shows  the  French  taste  for  making  godli- 
ness itself  histrionically  effective,  that  quality  of  mind  which  would  lead  a  Parisian 
to  criticise  the  coming  of  the  judgment  angels  if  their  entrance  were  not  happily 
arranged  and  properly  executed  ;  but  in  spite  of  this  there  is  an  elevation  such  as 
it  is  rare  to  meet  with  in  literature,  and  especially  in  the  literature  of  Balzac's  age 
and  land.  The  story  is  admirably  told,  and  the  figure  of  the  Baron  Bourlac  is 
really  noble  in  its  martyrdom  of  self-denial  and  heroic  patience.  The  picture  of 
the  Jewish  doctor  is  a  most  characteristic  piece  of  work,  and  shows  Balzac's 
intimate  touch  in  every  line.  Balzac  was  always  attracted  by  the  mystical  side 
of  the  physical  nature  ;  and  it  might  almost  be  said  that  everything  that  savored 
of  mystery,  even  though  it  ran  obviously  into  quackery,  had  a  strong  attraction 
for  him.  He  pictures  Halpersohn  with  a  few  strokes,  but  his  picture  of  him  has 
a  striking  vitality  and  reality.  The  volume  is  a  valuable  and  attractive  addition  to 
the  series  to  which  it  belongs  ;  and  the  series  comes  as  near  to  fulfilling  the  ideal 
of  what  translations  should  be  as  is  often  granted  to  earthly  things.  —  Boston 
Courier. 

The  book,  which  is  one  of  rare  charm,  is  one  of  the  most  refined,  while  at  the 
same  time  tragic,  of  all  his  works.  —  Public  Opinion. 

His  present  work  is  a  fiction  beautiful  in  its  conception,  just  one  of  those 
practical  ideals  which  Balzac  nourished  and  believed  in.  There  never  was  greater 
homage  than  he  pays  to  the  book  of  books,  "  The  Imitation  of  Jesus  Christ." 
Miss  Wormeley  has  here  accomplished  her  work  just  as  cleverly  as  in  her  other 
volumes  of  Balzac—  N.  Y.  Times. 


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BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


A  Great  Mm  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

By   HONORÉ    DE    BALZAC. 

Being  the  second  part  of  "  Lost  Illusions."     Translated  by  Kath- 
arine Prescott  Wormeley.     i2mo.     Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 

We  are  beginning  to  look  forward  to  the  new  translations  of  Balzac  by  Katha- 
rine Wormeley  almost  as  eagerly  as  to  the  new  works  of  the  best  contemporary 
writers.  But,  unlike  the  writings  of  most  novelists,  Balzac's  novels  cannot  be 
judged  separately.  They  belong  together,  and  it  is  impossible  to  understand  the 
breadth  and  depth  of  the  great  writer's  insight  into  human  life  by  reading  any 
one  volume  of  this  remarkable  series.  For  instance,  we  rise  from  the  reading  of 
this  last  volume  feeling  as  if  there  was  nothing  high  or  noble  or  pure  in  life.  But 
what  would  be  more  untrue  than  to  fancy  that  Balzac  was  unable  to  appreciate 
the  true  and  the  good  and  the  beautiful  !  Compare  "  The  Lily  of  the  Valley  " 
or  "Seraphita"  or  "Louis  Lambert"  with  "The  Duchesse  of  Langeais"  and 
"  Cousin  Bette,"  and  then  perhaps  the  reader  will  be  able  to  criticise  Balzac  with 
some  sort  of  justice.  — Boston  Transcript. 

Balzac  paints  the  terrible  verities  of  life  with  an  inexorable  hand.  The  siren 
charms,  the  music  and  lights,  the  feast  and  the  dance,  are  presented  in  voluptu- 
ous colors —  but  read  to  the  end  of  the  book!  There  are  depicted  with  equal 
truthfulness  the  deplorable  consequences  of  weakness  and  crime.  Some  have 
read  Balzac's  "Cousin  Bette"  and  have  pronounced  him  immoral;  but  when 
the  last  chapter  of  any  of  his  novels  is  read,  the  purpose  of  the  whole  is  clear,  and 
immorality  cannot  be  alleged.  Balzac  presents  life.  His  novels  are  as  truthful 
as  they  are  terrible.  —  Springfield  Union. 

Admirers  of  Balzac  will  doubtless  enjoy  the  mingled  sarcasm  and  keen  analy- 
sis of  human  nature  displayed  in  the  present  volume,  brought  out  with  even  more 
than  the  usual  amount  of  the  skill  and  energy  characteristic  of  the  author.  — 
Pittsburgh  Post. 

The  art  of  Balzac,  the  wonderful  power  of  his  contrast,  the  depth  of  his 
knowledge  of  life  and  men  and  things,  this  tremendous  story  illustrates.  How 
admirably  the  rise  of  the  poet  is  traced  ;  the  crescendo  is  perfect  in  gradation,  yet 
as  inexorable  as  fate!  As  for  the  fall,  the  effect  is  more  depressing  than  a 
personal  catastrophe.  This  is  a  book  to  read  over  and  over,  an  epic  of  life  in 
prose,  more  tremendous  than  the  blank  verse  of  **  Paradise  Lost  "  or  the 
"Divine  Comedy."  Miss  Wormeley  and  the  publishers  deserve  not  congratula- 
tions alone,  but  thanks  for  adding  this  book  and  its  predecessor,  "  Lost  Illusions," 
to  the  literature  of  English.  —  San  Francisco  Wave. 


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BALZAC   IN  ENGLISH. 


Lost  Illusions  :  The  Two  Poets,  and  Eve  and  David. 

By   HONORÉ   DE   BALZAC. 

Being  the  twenty-third  volume  of  Miss  Wormeley's  translation  of 
Balzac's  novels.     i2mo.     Half  Russia.     Price,  #1.50. 

For  her  latest  translation  of  the  Balzac  fiction  cycle,  Miss  Wormeley  gives  us 
the  first  and  third  parts  of  "  Illusion  Perdue,"  under  the  caption  of  "  Lost 
Illusions,"  namely,  "The  Two  Poets"  and  "  Eve  and  David."  This  arrange- 
ment is  no  doubt  a  good  one,  for  the  readers  are  thus  enabled  to  follow  the  consecu- 
tive fortunes  of  the  Angouleme  folk,  while  the  adventures  of  Eve's  poet-brother, 
Lucien,  which  occur  in  Paris  and  make  a  tale  by  themselves,  are  thus  left  for  a 
separate  publication.  The  novel,  as  we  have  it,  then,  belongs  to  the  category  of 
those  scenes  from  provincial  life  which  Balzac  found  so  stimulating  to  his  genius. 
This  story,  certainly,  in  some  respects  takes  high  rank  among  them.  The 
character-drawing  is  fine:  Lucien,  the  ambitious,  handsome,  weak-willed,  selfish, 
and  easily-sinning  young  bourgeois,  is  contrasted  with  David,  —  a  touching  picture 
of  the  struggling  inventor,  born  of  the  people  and  sublimely  one-purposed  and 
pure  in  his  life.  Eve,  the  type  of  a  faithful  large-brained  and  larger-hearted  wife, 
who  supports  her  husband  through  all  his  hardships  with  unfaltering  courage  and 
kindness,  is  another  noble  creation.  David  inherits  a  poorish  printing  business 
from  his  skin-flint  of  a  father,  neglects  it  while  devoting  all  his  time  and  energy  to 
his  discovery  of  an  improved  method  of  making  paper  ;  and  through  the  evil, 
machinations  of  the  rival  printing  firm  of  the  Cointets,  as  well  as  the  debts  foisted 
on  him  by  Lucien  in  Paris,  he  is  brought  into  money  difficulties  and  even  into 
prison.  But  his  invention,  although  sold  at  a  sacrifice  to  the  cunning  Cointets, 
gets  him  out  of  the  hole  at  last,  and  he  and  his  good  wife  retire  on  a  comfortable 
competency,  which  is  augmented  at  the  death  of  his  father  into  a  good-sized 
fortune.  The  seamy  side  of  law  in  the  provinces  is  shown  up  in  Balzac's  keen, 
inimitable  way  in  the  description  of  the  winding  of  the  coils  around  the  unsuspect- 
ing David  and  the  depiction  of  such  men  as  the  brothers  Cointets  and  the  shrewd 
little  petifogging  rascal,  Petit  Claud.  The  pictures  of  Angouleme  aristocratic 
circles,  too,  with  Lucien  as  high  priest,  are  vivacious,  and  show  the  novelist's 
wonderful  observation  in  all  ranks  of  life.  The  bit  of  wild  romance  by  which 
Lucien  becomes  the  secretary  of  a  Spanish  grandee  lends  a  fairy-tale  flavor  to  tne 
main  episodes.  Balzac,  in  whom  is  united  the  most  lynx-eyed  realism  and  the 
most  extravagant  romanticism,  is  ever  and  always  one  of  the  great  masters  in 
fiction  of  our  century. 


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Balzac  in  English. 


PIERRETTE 

AND 

The  Vicar    ok   Tours. 

BY   HONORÉ   DE   BALZAC. 
Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley. 


In  Pierrette,  which  Miss  Wormeley  has  added  to  her  series  of  felicitous 
translations  from  the  French  master-fictionists,  Balzac  has  made  within 
brief  compass  a  marvellously  sympathetic  study  of  the  martyrdom  of  a 
young  girl.  Pierrette,  a  flower  of  Brittany,  beautiful,  pale,  and  fair  and 
sweet,  is  taken  as  an  undesired  charge  by  sordid-minded  cousins  in  Pro- 
vins, and  like  an  exotic  transplanted  into  a  harsh  and  sour  soil  she  withers 
and  fades  under  the  cruel  conditions  of  her  new  environment.  Inciden* 
tally  Balzac  depicts  in  vivid  colors  the  struggles  of  two  shop-keepers  —  a 
brother  and  sister,  who  have  amassed  a  little  fortune  in  Paris  —  to  gain  a 
foothold  among  the  bourgeoisie  of  their  native  town.  These  two  become 
the  prey  of  conspirators  for  political  advancement,  and  the  rivalries  thus 
engendered  shake  the  small  provincial  society  to  its  centre.  Put  the 
charm  of  the  tale  is  in  the  portrayal  of  the  character  of  PierretLe,  who 
understands  only  how  to  lqye,  and  who  cannot  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
suspicion  and  ill-treatment.  The  story  is  of  course  sad,  but  its  fidelity  to 
life  and  the  pathos  of  it  are  elements  of  unfailing  interest.  Balzac  brings 
a  score  or  more  of  people  upon  the  stage,  shows  each  one  as  he  or  she 
really  is  both  in  outward  appearance  and  inward  nature,  and  then  allows 
motives  and  circumstances  to  work  out  an  inevitable  result.  To  watch 
this  process  is  like  being  present  at  some  wonderful  chemical  experiment 
where  the  ingredients  are  mixed  with  a  deft  and  careful  hand,  and  combine 
to  produce  effects  of  astonishing  significance.  The  social  genesis  of  the 
old  maid  in  her  most  abhorrent  form  occupies  much  of  Balzac's  attention 
in  Pierrette,  and  this  theme  also  has  a  place  in  the  story  of  The  Vicar  of 
Tours,  bound  up  in  this  same  volume.     The  vicar  is  a  simple-minded 

{)riest  who  is  happy  enough  till  he  takes  up  his  quarters  with  an  old  maid 
andlady,  who  pesters  and  annoys  him  in  many  ways,  and  finally  sends  him 
forth  despoiled  of  his  worldly  goods  and  a  laughing-stock  for  the  country- 
side. There  is  a  great  deal  of  humor  in  the  tale,  but  one  must  confess 
that  the  humor  is  of  a  rather  heavy  sort,  it  being  weighed  down  by  a  domi- 
nant satirical  purpose.  —  The  Beacon. 

One  handsome  i2mo  volume,  uniform  with  "Père  Goriot," 
"  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  "  César  Birotteau,"  "  Eugenie 
Grandet,"  "  Cousin  Pons."  "  The  Country  Doctor,"  "  The  Tw« 
Brothers,"  and  "The  Alkahest."  Half  morocco,  French  style 
Price,  $1.50. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  HONORÉ  DE  BALZAC. 


Compiled  and  written  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley,  translator 
of  Balzac's  works.  With  portrait  of  Balzac,  taken  one  hour  after 
death,  by  Eugène  Giraud,  and  a  Sketch  of  the  Prison  of  the  Collège 
de  Vendôme.  One  volume,  i2mo.  Half  Russia,  uniform  with  our 
edition  of  Balzac's  works.     Price,  #1.50. 

A  complete  life  of  Balzac  can  probably  never  be  written.  The  sole  object  or 
the  present  volume  is  to  present  Balzac  to  American  readers.  This  memoir  is 
meant  to  be  a  presentation  of  the  man,  —  and  not  of  his  work,  except  as  it  was  a 
part  of  himself,  —  derived  from  authentic  sources  of  information,  and  presented  in 
their  own  words,  with  such  simple  elucidations  as  a  close  intercourse  with  Balzac's 
mind,  necessitated  by  conscientious  translation,  naturally  gives.  The  portrait 
in  this  volume  was  considered  by  Madame  de  Balzac  the  best  likeness  of  her 
husband. 

Miss  Wormeley's  discussion  of  the  subject  is  of  value  in  many  ways,  and  it  has 
long  been  needed  as  a  help  to  comprehension  of  his  life  and  character.  Person- 
ally, he  lived  up  to  his  theory.  His  life  was  in  fact  austere.  Any  detailed  ac- 
count of  the  conditions  under  which  he  worked,  such  as  are  given  in  this  volume, 
will  show  that  this  must  have  been  the  case  ;  and  the  fact  strongly  reinforces  the 
doctrine.  Miss  Wormeley,  in  arranging  her  account  of  his  career,  has,  almost 
of  necessity,  made  free  use  of  the  letters  and  memoir  published  by  Balzac's  sister, 
Madame  Surville.  She  has  also,  whenever  it  would  serve  the  purpose  of  illus- 
tration better,  quoted  from  the  sketches  of  him  by  his  contemporaries,  wisely 
rejecting  the  trivialities  and  frivolities  by  the  exaggeration  of  which  many  of  his 
first  chroniclers  seemed  bent  upon  giving  the  great  author  a  kind  of  opera-bouffe 
aspect.  To  judge  from  some  of  these  accounts,  he  was  flighty,  irresponsible, 
possibly  a  little  mad,  prone  to  lose  touch  of  actualities  by  the  dominance  of  his 
imagination,  fond  of  wild  and  impracticable  schemes,  and  altogether  an  eccentric 
and  unstable  person.  But  it  is  not  difficult  to  prove  that  Balzac  was  quite  a 
different  character;  that  he  possessed  a  marvellous  power  of  intellectual  organi- 
zation ;  that  he  was  the  most  methodical  and  indefatigable  of  workers  ;  that  he 
was  a  man  of  a  most  delicate  sense  of  honor;  that  his  life  was  not  simply  de- 
voted to  literary  ambition,  but  was  a  martyrdom  to  obligations  which  were  his 
misfortune,  but  not  his  fault. 

All  this  Miss  Wormley  has  well  set  forth  ;  and  in  doing  so  she  has  certainly 
relieved  Balzac  of  much  unmerited  odium,  and  has  enabled  those  who  have  not 
made  a  study  of  his  character  and  work  to  understand  how  high  the  place  is  in 
any  estimate  of  the  helpers  of  modern  progress  and  enlightenment  to  which  his 
genius  and  the  loftiness  of  his  aims  entitle  him.  This  memoir  is  a  very  modest 
biography,  though  a  very  good  one.  The  author  has  effaced  herself  as  much  as 
possible,  and  has  relied  upon  "documents"  whenever  they  were  trustworthy. — 
N.  Y.  Tribune. 


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Balzac  in  English. 


Albert   Savarus,   with    Paz   (La    Fausse 
Maîtresse)  and   Madame  Firmiani.    By 

Honoré  de  Balzac.    Translated   by  Katharine  Prescott 
Wormeley. 

There  is  much  in  this,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  books, 
which  is  synonymous  with  Balzac's  own  life.  It  is  the  story  of  a  man's 
Jirst  love  for  woman,  his  inspirer,  the  source  from  whom  he  derives 
his  power  of  action.  It  also  contains  many  details  on  his  habits  of 
life  and  work. 

The  three  short  stories  in  this  volume, —  '  Albert  Savarus,'  '  Paz  '  and  '  Madame 
Firmiani  ' — are  chips  from  that  astounding  workshop  which  never  ceased  its  Hephces- 
tian  labors  and  products  until  Balzac  was  no  more  Short  stories  of  this  character 
flew  from  his  glowing  forge  like  sparks  from  an  anvil,  the  playthings  of  an  idle  hour, 
the  interludes  of  a  more  vivid  drama.  Three  of  them  gathered  here  illustrate  as 
usual  Parisian  and  provincial  life,  two  in  a  very  noble  fashion,  Balzacian  to  the  core. 
The  third  —  '  Albert  Savarus' —  has  many  elements  of  tragedy  and  grandeur  in  it, 
spoiled  only  by  an  abruptness  in  the  conclusion  and  an  accumulation  of  unnecessary 
horrors  that  chill  the  reader.     It  is  a  block  of  tragic  marble  hewn,  not  to  a  finish,  but 

to  a  fine  prophetic  suggestion  of  what  is  to  follow  if !     The  if  never  emerges 

from  conditionally  to  fulfilment.  The  beautiful  lines  and  sinuous  curves  of  the 
nascent  statue  are  there,  not  fully  born  of  the  encasing  stone  ;  what  sculptors  call  the 
*  tenons'  show  in  all  their  visibility  —  the  supports  and  scaffoldings  reveal  their 
presence  ;  the  forefront  is  finished  as  in  a  Greek  metope  or  Olympian  tympanum, 
where  broken  Lapiths  and  Centaurs  disport  themselves  ;  but  the  background  is  rude 
and  primitive. 

In  '  Madame  Firmiani  '  a  few  brilliant  pages  suffice  to  a  perfect  picture, —  one  of 
the  few  spotless  pictures  of  this  superb  yet  sinning  magician  so  rich  in  pictures.  It  is 
French  nature  that  Balzac  depicts,  warm  with  all  the  physical  impulses,  undisguised 
in  its  assaults  on  the  soul,  ingeniously  sensual,  odiously  loose  in  its  views  of  marriage 
and  the  marriage  relation,  but  splendidly  picturesque.  In  this  brief  romance  noble 
words  are  wedded  to  noble  music.  In  '  Paz  '  an  almost  equal  nobility  of  thought  — 
the  nobility  of  self-renunciation — is  attained.  Balzac  endows  his  men  and  women 
with  happy  millions  and  unhappy  natures:  the  red  ruby  —  the  broken  heart  —  blazes 
in  a  setting  of  gold.  '  Paz,  '  the  sublime  Pole  who  loves  the  wife  of  his  best  friend, 
a  Slav  Crcesus,  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The  richest  rhetoric,  the  sunniest  colors, 
fail  to  counteract  the  Acherontian  gloom  of  these  lives  and  sorrows  snatched  from  the 
cauldron  of  urban  and  rural  France,  —  a  cauldron  that  burns  hotter  than  any  other 
with  its  strange  Roman  and  Celtic  ardors.  Balzac  was  perpetually  dipping  into  it  and 
drawing  from  it  the  wonderful  and  extraordinary  incidents  of  his  novels,  incidents  often 
monstrous  in  their  untruth  if  looked  at  from  any  other  than  a  French  point  of  view. 
Thus,  the  devilish  ingenuity  of  the  jealous  woman  in  '  Albert  Savarus'  would  seem 
unnatural  anywhere  else  than  in  the  sombre  French  provinces  of  1836, —  a  toadstool 
sprung  up  in  the  rank  moonlight  of  the  religious  conventual  system  of  education  for 
women  ;  but  there,  and  then,  and  as  one  result  of  this  system  of  repression,  it 
seems  perfectly  natural.  And  so  does  the  beautiful  self-abnegation  of  Albert  himself, 
■that  high-strung  soul  that  could  have  been  born  only  in  nervous  and  passionate 
France. 

As  usual,  Miss  Wormeley's  charming  translation  floats  the  reader  over  these 
pages  in  the  swiftest  and  airiest  manner.  —  The  Critic. 

One  handsome  i2mo  volume,  uniform  with  "  Père  Goriot,"  "  The 
Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  "  César  Birotteau,"  "  Eugénie  Grandet," 
"  Cousin  Pons,"  "  The  Country  Doctor,"  "  The  Two  Brothers,"  and 
"The  Alkahest."     Half  morocco,  French  style.     Price,  $1.50. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


BALZAC  IN  ENGLISH. 


An  Historical  Mystery, 

Translated  by  KATHARINE  PRESCOTT  WORMELEY. 
12mo.    Half  Russia.    Uniform  with  Balzac's  Works.    Price,  $1.50. 

An  Historical  Mystery  is  the  title  given  to  "  Une  Ténébreuse  Affaire,"  which 
has  just  appeared  in  the  series  of  translations  of  Honoré  de  Balzac's  novels,  by 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley  This  exciting  romance  is  full  of  stirring  interest, 
and  is  distinguished  by  that  minute  analysis  of  character  in  which  its  eminent 
author  excelled.  The  characters  stand  boldly  out  from  the  surrounding  incidents, 
and  with  a  fidelity  as  wonderful  as  it  is  truthful.  Plot  and  counterplot  follow 
each  other  with  marvellous  rapidity;  and  around  the  exciting  days  when  Na- 
poleon was  First  Consul,  and  afterward  when  he  was  Emperor,  a  mystery  is 
woven  in  which  some  royalists  are  concerned  that  is  concealed  with  masterly 
ingenuity  until  the  novelist  sees  fit  to  take  his  reader  into  his  confidence.  The 
heroine,  Laurence,  is  a  remarkably  strong  character  ;  and  the  love-story  in  which 
she  figures  is  refreshing  in  its  departure  from  the  beaten  path  of  the  ordinary 
writer  of  fiction.  Michu,  her  devoted  servant,  has  also  a  marked  individuality, 
which  leaves  a  lasting  impression.  Napoleon,  Talleyrand,  Fouché,  and  other 
historical  personages,  appear  in  the  tale  in  a  manner  that  is  at  once  natural  and 
impressive.  As  an  addition  to  a  remarkable  series,  the  book  is  one  that  no 
admirer  of  Balzac  can  afford  to  neglect.  Miss  Wormeley's  translation  reproduces 
the  peculiarities  of  the  author's  style  with  the  faithfulness  for  which  she  has 
hitherto  been  celebrated.  —  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

It  makes  very  interesting  reading  at  this  distance  of  time,  however;  and  Balzac 
has  given  to  the  legendary  account  much  of  the  solidity  of  history  by  his  adroit 
manipulation.  For  the  main  story  it  must  be  said  that  the  action  is  swifter  and 
more  varied  than  in  many  of  the  author's  books,  and  that  there  are  not  wanting 
many  of  those  cameo-like  portraits  necessary  to  warn  the  reader  against  slovenly 
perusal  of  this  carefully  written  story;  for  the  complications  are  such,  and  the  re- 
lations between  the  several  plots  involved  so  intricate,  that  the  thread  might 
easily  be  lost  and  much  of  the  interest  be  thus  destroyed  The  usual  Balzac 
compactness  is  of  course  present  throughout,  to  give  body  and  significance  to  the 
work,  and  the  stage  is  crowded  with  impressive  figures.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  find  a  book  which  gives  a  better  or  more  faithful  illustration  of  one  of  the 
strangest  periods  in  French  history,  in  short  ;  and  its  attraction  as  a  story  is  at 
least  equalled  by  its  value  as  a  true  picture  of  the  time  it  is  concerned  with.  The 
translation  is  as  spirited  and  close  as  Miss  Wormeley  has  taught  us  to  expect  in 
this  admirable  series.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

One  of  the  most  intensely  interesting  novels  that  Balzac  ever  wrote  is  An 
Historical  Mystery,  whose  translation  has  just  been  added  to  the  preceding 
novels  that  compose  the  "Comédie  Humaine"  so  admirably  translated  by  Miss 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.  The  story  opens  in  the  autumn  of  1803,  in  the 
time  of  the  Empire,  and  the  motive  is  in  deep-laid  political  plots,  which  are  re- 
vealed with  the  subtle  and  ingenious  skill  that  marks  the  art  of  Balzac.  .  .  The 
story  is  a  deep-laid  political  conspiracy  of  the  secret  service  of  the  ministry  of 
the  police.  Talleyrand,  M'lle  de  Cinq-Cvgne,  the  Princess  de  Cadigan,  Louis 
XVI I L,  as  well  as  Napoleon,  figure  as  characters  of  this  thrilling  historic  ro- 
mance. An  absorbing  love-story  is  also  told,  in  which  State  intrigue  plays  an 
important  part.  The  character-drawing  is  faithful  to  history,  and  the  story  illu- 
minates French  life  in  the  early  years  of  the  century  as  if  a  calcium  light  were 
thrown  on  the  scene. 

It  is  a  romance  of  remarkable  power  and  one  of  the  most  deeply  fascinating 
of  all  the  novels  of  the  "Comédie  Humaine." 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,   Boston. 


BALZAC   IN  ENGLISH. 


Fame  and  Sorrow, 

Sitta  ©tfcet  stories. 

TRANSLATED   BY  KATHARINE   PRESCOTT  WORMELEY. 

i2mo.  Half  Russia.  Uniform  with  our  edition  of  Balzac's 
Works.  Price,  $1.50.  In  addition  to  this  remarkable  story, 
the  volume  contains  the  following,  namely  :  "  Colonel  Chabert," 
"  The  Atheist's  Mass,"  "  La  Grande  Bretèche,"  "  The  Purse,"  and 
u  La  Grenadière." 

The  force  and  passion  of  the  stories  of  Balzac  are  unapproachable.  He  had 
th«  art  of  putting  into  half  a  dozen  pages  all  the  fire  and  stress  which  many 
writers,  who  are  still  great,  cannot  compass  in  a  volume.  The  present  volume  is 
an  admirable  collection,  and  presents  well  his  power  of  handling  the  short  story. 
That  the  translation  is  excellent  need  hardly  be  said  —  Boston  Courier. 

The  six  stories?  admirably  translated  by  Miss  Wormeley,  afford  good  example» 
of  Balzac's  work  in  what  not  a  few  critics  have  thought  his  chief  specialty.  It  is 
certain  that  no  writer  of  many  novels  wrote  so  many  short  stories  as  he  ;  and  it  is 
equally  as  certain  that  his  short  stories  are,  almost  without  an  exception,  models 
of  what  such  compositions  ought  to  be.  .  .  No  modern  author,  however,  of  any 
school  whatever,  has  succeeded  in  producing  short  stories  half  so  good  as  Balzac's 
best.  Balzac  did  not,  indeed,  attempt  to  display  his  subtility  and  deftness  by 
writing  short  stories  about  nothing.  Every  one  of  his  tales  contains  an  episode, 
not  necessarily,  but  usually,  a  dramatic  episode  The  first  in  the  present  collec- 
tion, better  known  as  "La  Maison  du  Chat-qui-pelote,"  is  really  a  short  novel. 
It  has  all  the  machinery,  all  the  interest,  all  the  detail  of  a  regular  story.  The 
difference  is  that  it  is  compressed  as  Balzac  only  could  compress  ;  that  here  and 
there  important  events,  changes,  etc.,  are  indicated  in  a  few  powerful  lines  instead 
of  being  elaborated;  that  the  vital  points  are  thrown  into  strong  relief.     Take  the 

Çathetic  story  of  "Colonel  Chabert  "  It  begins  with  an  elaboration  of  detail, 
"he  description  of  the  lawyer's  office  might  seem  to  some  too  minute.  But  it  is 
the  stage  upon  which  the  Colonel  is  to  appear,  and  when  he  enters  we  see  the 
value  of  the  preliminaries,  for  a  picture  is  presented  which  the  memory  seizes  and 
holds.  As  the  action  progresses,  detail  is  used  more  parsimoniously,  because  tho 
tnise-en-scene  has  already  been  completed,  and  because,  also,  the  characters  once 
clearly  described,  the  development  of  character  and  the  working  of  passion  can 
be  indicated  with  a  few  pregnant  strokes.  Notwithstanding  this  increasing 
economy  of  space,  the  action  takes  on  a  swifter  intensity,  and  the  culmination  of 
the  tragedy  leaves  the  reader  breathless. 

In  "  The  Atheist's  Mass  "  we  have  quite  a  new  kind  of  story  This  is  rather 
a  psychological  study  than  a  narrative  of  action.  Two  widely  distinguished  char- 
acters are  thrown  on  the  canvas  here,  —  that  of  the  great  surgeon  and  that  of  the 
humble  patron  ;  and  one  knows  not  which  most  to  admire,  the  vigor  of  the 
drawing,  or  the  subtle  and  lucid  psychical  analysis.  In  both  there  is  rare  beauty  of 
soul,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  the  poor  Auvergnat  surpasses  the  eminent  surgeon, 
though  this  is  a  delicate  and  difficult  question.  But  how  complete  the  little  story 
is  ;  how  much  it  tells  ;  with  what  skill,  and  in  how  delightful  a  manner  !  Then 
there  is  that  tremendous  haunting  legend  of  "  La  Grande  Bretèche,"  a  story  which 
has  always  been  turned  into  more  languages  and  twisted  into  more  new  forms  than 
almost  any  other  of  its  kind  extant.  What  author  has  equalled  the  continuing 
horror  of  that  unfaithful  wife's  agony,  compelled  to  look  on  and  assist  at  the  slow 
murder  of  her  entrapped  lover?  .  .  Then  the  death  of  the  husband  and  wife,  — 
the  one  by  quick  and  fiercer  dissipation,  the  other  by  simple  refusal  to  live  longer, 
—  and  the  abandonment  of  the  accursed  dwelling  to  solitude  and  decay,  complete 
a  picture,  which  for  vividness,  emotional  force,  imaginative  power,  and  compre- 
hensiveness of  effects,  can  be  said  to  have  few  equals  in  its  own  class  of  fiction.  — 
Kansas  City  Journal. 

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BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


SONS  OF  THE  SOIL. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley. 


Many  critics  have  regarded  "Les  Paysans,"  to  which  Miss  Wormeley, 
in  her  admirable  translation,  has  given  the  title  "  Sons  of  the  Soil,"  as  one 
of  Balzac's  strongest  novels  ;  and  it  cannot  fail  to  impress  those  who  read 
this  English  rendering  of  it.  Fifty  or  sixty  years  ago  Balzac  made  a  pro- 
found study  of  the  effects  produced  by  the  Revolution  upon  the  peasants 
of  the  remote  provinces  of  France,  and  he  has  here  elaborated  these  obser- 
vations in  a  powerful  picture  of  one  of  those  strange,  disguised,  but  fero- 
cious social  wars  which  were  at  the  time  not  only  rendered  possible,  but 
promoted  by  three  potent  influences,  namely,  the  selfishness  of  the  rich 
landholders;  the  land-hunger  and  stimulated  greed  of  the  peasants;  and 
the  calculated  rapacity  of  middle-class  capitalists,  craftily  using  the  hatreds 
of  the  poor  to  forward  their  own  plots.  The  first  part  of  "  Les  Paysans  " 
(and  the  only  part  which  was  published  during  the  author's  life)  appeared 
under  a  title  taken  from  an  old  and  deeply  significant  proverb,  Qui  a  terre 
a  guerre, — "Who  has  land  has  war." 

It  is  the  account  of  a  guerilla  war  conducted  by  a  whole  country-sid^ 
against  one  great  land-owner, — a  war  in  which,  moreover,  the  lawless 
aggressions  of  the  peasantry  are  prompted,  supported,  and  directed  by  an 
amazing  alliance  between  the  richest,  most  unscrupulons,  and  most  power 
ful  of  the  neighboring  provincial  magnates,  who,  by  controlling,  through 
family  council,  the  local  administration,  are  in  a  position  to  paralyze  resist- 
ance to  their  conspiracy.  The  working  out  of  this  deep  plot  affords  tht- 
author  opportunity  for  the  introduction  of  a  whole  gallery  of  marvelloui 
studies. 

It  is  perhaps  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  this  powerful  and  absorbing 
story  is  lifted  above  the  level  of  romance  by  the  unequalled  artistic  genius 
of  the  author,  and  that  it  is  at  times  almost  transformed  into  a  profound 
political  study  by  the  depth  and  acumen  of  his  suggestions  and  comments. 
Nor  should  it  be  requisite  to  point  out  analogies  with  territorial  conditions 
in  more  than  one  other  country,  which  lend  to  "  Les  Paysans  "  a  special 
interest  and  significance,  and  are  likely  to  prevent  it  from  becoming  obsolete 
for  a  long  time  to  come.  Of  the  translation  it  only  need  be  said  that  it  is 
as  good  as  Miss  Wormeley  has  accustomed  us  to  expect,  and  that  means 
the  best  rendering  of  French  into  English  that  has  ever  been  done.  — 
New  York  Tribune. 


Handsome  12mo  volume,  bound  in  half  Russia.  Price, 
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BOSTON,   MASS. 


BALZAC'S  PHILOSOPHICAL  HOVELS. 


THE  MAGIC  SKIN.— LOUIS  LAMBERT. 
— ==  SERAPHITA.^ — 

TRANSLATED   BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY. 

WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION   TO  EACH   NOVEL   BV 
GEORGE   FREDERIC  PARSONS. 

[From  Le  Livre,  Revue  du  Monde  Littéraire,  Paris,  March,  1889.] 
There  are  men  so  great  that  humanity  passes  generations  of  existences  in 
measuring  them.  .  .  .  Certain  it  is  that  to-day  the  French  Academy  makes  Bal- 
zac's work  the  theme  for  its  prize  of  eloquence,  that  the  great  writer  is  translated 
and  commented  upon  in  foreign  countries,  and  that  in  Paris  and  even  at  Tours, 
his  native  place,  statues  are  in  process  of  being  erected  to  him.  .  .  .  But  the 
marble  of  M.  Chapus,  the  bronze  of  M.  Fournier,  —  Balzac  sad  or  Balzac  seated,  — 
are  of  little  consequence  to  the  glory  of  the  writer  standing  before  the  world,  who 
bore  a  world  in  his  brain  and  brought  it  forth,  who  was  at  once  the  Diderot  and 
the  Rabelais  of  this  century,  and  who,  above  and  beyond  their  fire,  their  imagina- 
tion, their  superabounding  life,  their  hilarious  spirit,  paradoxical  and  marvellously 
sagacious  as  it  was,  had  in  the  highest  degree  the  mystical  gift  of  intuition,  and  is 
able,  beyond  all  others,  to  open  to  us  illimitable  vistas  of  the  Unseen. 

It  is  this  side  of  Balzac's  genius  which  at  the  present  time  attracts  and  pre- 
occupies foreign  critics.  Mile  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley  has  undertaken  to 
translate  the  "  Comédie  Humaine  "  into  English.  She  has  already  published 
several  volumes  which  show  a  most  intelligent  sympathy  and  a  talent  that  is  both 
simple  and  vigorous.  Lately  she  translated  "  La  Peau  de  Chagrin  "  ("  The  Magic 
Skin"),  and  now,  taking  another  step  into  the  esoteric  work  of  the  Master,  she  gives 
to  the  Anglo-Saxon  public  "  Louis  Lambert."  But  she  does  not  venture  upon  this 
arduous  task  without  support.  Mr.  George  Frederic  Parsons  has  undertaken  in  a 
long  introduction  to  initiate  the  reader  into  the  meaning  hidden,  or,  we  should  rather 
say,  encased,  in  the  psychologic  study  of  a  lofty  soul  which  ends  by  inspiring  mun- 
dane minds  with  respect  for  its  seeming  madness  and  a  deep  sense  of  the  Beyond. 
.  .  .  Many  critics,  and  several  noted  ones,  have  so  little  understood  the  real  mean- 
ing of  "  Louis  Lambert  "  and  "  Seraphita  "  that  they  have  wondered  why  the  au- 
thor gave  them  a  place  in  the  "  Comédie  Humaine,"  which,  nevertheless,  without 
them  would  be  a  temple  without  a  pediment,  as  M.  Taine  very  clearly  saw  and 
said.  Mr.  Parsons  takes  advantage  of  Miss  Wormeley's  translation  to  state  and 
prove  and  elucidate  this  truth.  The  commentary  may  be  thought  a  little  long,  a 
little  replete,  or  too  full  of  comparisons  and  erudite  reference  ;  but  all  serious 
readers  who  follow  it  throughout  will  never  regret  that  they  have  thus  prepared 
themselves  to  understand  Balzac's  work.  We  call  the  attention  of  the  philosophi- 
cal and  theosophical  journals  to  this  powerful  study.  [Translated.] 


Handsome  i2mo  volumes;  bound  in  half  Russia,  French  style. 
Price,  $1.50  per  volume. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


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